


proximity

by blondeslytherin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Closet Sex, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Grinding, Keith is an insomniac, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Missions Gone Wrong, Mutual Masturbation, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Roommates, Shower Sex, Top Lance (Voltron), an overabundance of the word fuck, lance doesn't know what boundaries are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondeslytherin/pseuds/blondeslytherin
Summary: There’s a keening noise as Lance’s hand speeds up. Keith can’t tear his eyes away from the motion under the blankets, entranced by the way his hand moves.Lance is moaning. Lance is actually moaning here in the dark and Keith struggles to not respond with his own noises.“Ah, fuck,” Lance whispers, and the hand—impossibly—speeds up. Keith can feel his own dick pulsing in his underwear but like hell is he going to touch this.He will not get off to Lance getting off.~~~It starts off as a roommate agreement, knowing it's nice to get off with another warm body and an in-person visual. Masturbation mates. Boner bros. Friends with benefits, if you must. But what was supposed to be occasional is turning into something more as the lines between them blur and physical boundaries dissolve.Keith knows it's purely physical. Nothing but proximity between them.Right?
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 108
Kudos: 251





	1. i can't expect you to be honest

**Author's Note:**

> should i have titled something 'proximity' given the current health crisis? probably not. in my defense, i started the fic long before corona was a thing. corona just kicked me out of school and gave me time to write. 
> 
> anyways! I hope you all are well, staying as safe as possible, respecting social distancing guidelines, and doing what you can to stay sane during these trying times. 
> 
> comments and kudos are loved and appreciated.
> 
> enjoy ;)

Keith’s pretty sure that if the back of his eyelids ever got arrested, he could pick them out of a police lineup, no problem. That’s how many sleepless nights he’s had.

He could just as easily turn onto his back and start counting the glow-in-the-dark stars tacked up on the ceiling, the ones Lance absolutely insisted on, but what good would that do? He would reach the same number that he always does, and that would lead to him questioning if the stars even belonged up there, (“we’ve seen actual stars _while in SPACE,_ Lance, why do we need these fake ones?”) and that would end up with him aggravated with Lance. Again.

With whom he was currently sharing a room.

Now, both of them would tell you it was less than optimal conditions. Yeah, yeah, the fighting wasn’t what it used to be, not since they won the war and all that. Not since Allura joined the stars (is that why they were on the ceiling?). Not since they had both come to the unsaid conclusion that they liked each other more when they weren’t arguing, and hey, look, we’re best friends now.

But that did _not_ mean Keith appreciated sharing a room with Lance.

The loner thing hadn’t really gone away and even on the castleship—where he saw the same people every day for countless years—he had had his own room.

Apparently, it didn’t work like that on the Atlas. Not even when they were some of the highest-ranking officials, who had basically won the war singlehandedly. Oh no siree, there was just not enough space for everyone to get their own rooms. He’s pretty sure the only one with their own room is Shiro, and that’s because he’s the captain of the Atlas.

So here he was, bunked with Lance. Staring at the inside of his eyelids. Pretending to sleep, in hopes of tricking his mind into agreeing. He keeps his breath even and his muscles still, his mind teetering on the edge of silence. Random thoughts float in and out but nothing like the ones that normally keep him awake.

He can feel that familiar rush of dark blue coursing through his veins, tugging him down, under, asleep. Down, down, down…

A loud sigh from Lance has Keith snapping his eyelids open, once more fully awake.

_Goddammit._

This— _this_ —was why Keith couldn’t stand bunking with someone else. Every little noise, every rustle of the bedsheets or loud sigh—it bolted him right back awake. It’s the paranoia, he knew that, but it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t sleep with someone else in the room. At some point sheer exhaustion would drag him down, but he was a long way away from that.

There’s the rustle of bedsheets and Keith stares into the darkness, mentally willing Lance to stop fucking moving.

Another sigh lower this time.

Sharp breath, in.

The snap of elastic.

_Oh no._

Is he—? Is Lance really—?

Keith doesn’t have to wait long to find out the answer to his questions, not when there’s the subtle, all too familiar sound of someone’s hand rubbing over a dick. Skin on skin, just a touch of moisture.

Lance is really getting off with Keith less than six feet away from him.

_He must think I’m asleep_.

Well, he most certainly is not. But there’s no way he’s going to give Lance _any_ indication that he’s not asleep. Keith isn’t even seeing the action, but his cheeks are bright red and the sheer lewdness of it has him half-hard. It’s mortifying for both of them, and Keith knows the easier and less painful solution is to pretend like he’s asleep and wait for Lance to finish, and then never say a word about it. This will be another one of those secrets he takes to the grave. He doesn’t have a lot of them, but this is absolutely an addition. No big deal. Yeah. _God, how long is this going to take?_

Minutes pass and the little inhales of breath get sharper and sharper, with a soft gasp here and there. It’s clear he’s getting close when the sounds pick up in tempo and it’s borderline pornographic. Keith can imagine the way precum must be absolutely leaking by now, and he bites his lip in a vain effort to stop his own self from adding to the noise. He’s definitely not imagining Lance getting off, despite hearing it behind him. He’s also absolutely not wondering what’s doing it for Lance, what’s he’s picturing, is there anything in particular—

Lance _groans_. It cuts off halfway through, as if he bit his lip to keep it in check, but Keith’s own mouth falls open, dick pulsing in his boxers. He’s not going to come untouched to the sound of Lance getting off, thank you very much.

But he can’t deny the way he’s painfully hard and painfully awake now, not when Lance’s breaths are shallow, and the rustle of bedsheets indicates he’s finally done. One, two, three tissues are taken from the nightstand between their bunks, and Keith doesn’t want to know where those get deposited.

Only that within minutes Lance is snoring, and despite Keith being absolutely positive Lance is asleep, there’s no way he’s about to get off with him six feet away.

He’s not like _someone_.

So he lies there, painfully hard and painfully awake, until the Atlas lights snap on at 8 am sharp and Lance wakes with a yawn and a stretch and a, “morning, Mullet, how’d you sleep?”

~~~

His head drops into his hand, and immediately snaps back up again. Keith blinks, trying to steady himself, but finds the prospect of a nap in the middle of this meeting much more appealing…

Someone kicks him under the table and Keith’s head snaps back up. He blinks, scrunches his nose, and does his best to pretend like he comprehends what Iverson is saying. Something about visitations to other planets. Or maybe other planets visiting Earth? God, how long was he zoned out for?

Shiro clears his throat from across the table, and Keith takes a moment too long to focus his eyes on him. He’s got that “I’m very concerned about you, and we’re going to talk later” look on his face. Keith, quite truthfully, isn’t fucking up for it.

“Sorry I’m late everyone,” a familiar voice drawls, “but beauty rest is essential to keeping this handsome face so glorious.”

Keith isn’t fucking up for _that_ either.

Lance drops into the chair next to him. The chair rolls back with the force of it, and Lance does an awkward crab-shuffle with his feet to bring himself back to the table. His cologne wafts over to Keith, and Keith thinks death by lack of breathing might be an acceptable way to go.

“So kind of you to join us, Red Paladin,” Iverson says, and there’s no malice in it. He resumes talking about—oh, they’re talking about trade. Trade with Earth and other planets. _Yeah, see Keith, that fits the context of the people in the room._

“Did I miss much?” a low voice breathes into his ear. Keith’s spine tightens on instinct.

“No idea. I’ve been asleep for most of it.”

Lance chuckles, still far too close for comfort. “Sounds about right. Nightmares again?” The last part is uncharacteristically serious.

“Yeah,” Keith lies.

“Sorry man. Those sucks.” Lance finally leans away, and the room becomes a tad less stifling.

Despite his earlier lack of concentration, Keith finds himself snapping to attention now. Caring about what Iverson is saying. Listening to Mrs. Holt when she talks about the new agriculture, what they’re able to offer other planets.

It’s all, absolutely, fantastically—

Boring. Boring as all fucking hell.

But Shiro sits across from him, and Keith is the leader of Voltron and the leader of Voltron cares about these things.

Okay, don’t get him wrong. Keith _does_ care about these things. But not in an 8:30 earth-standard-time meeting when he’s had absolutely no sleep because the boy sitting next to him likes to get off in the dark.

It’s a normal, human thing. To do when you’re alone. _Not_ when your team leader is six feet away and potentially still awake.

_Well,_ his brain chimes in, _Lance probably didn’t think you were awake. It was late. He wouldn’t do it if he knew you were listening._

_Fair enough,_ he replies to his own self.

“Alright, folks, that’s all we have for today. We’ll reconvene same time, next week.”

Chairs scrape as everyone pushes away from the round table in a wave of bodies. Shiro is eyeing him again and Keith knows he’s going to get another dad talk. He’s an adult for fuck’s sake, you’d think they’d be done with this by now.

At least it comes from Shiro and not Krolia.

Keith shudders to himself imagining what the sex talk would be like coming from Krolia.

A shoulder knocks into his. “You alright there, bud?” Lance asks.

“Fine,” Keith replies, eyes locked straight ahead.

Lance huffs. “You sure?”

“Perfectly fine, Lance.”

Lance’s steps falter, just barely. “Well, if you say so.” It sounds like he wants to say more but can’t find a way to do so. Shiro intercepts at that moment, and Lance drops off with a salute.

The air thins, and Keith can breathe again.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is up with you? You haven’t slept through a meeting in months, Keith.”

“Just didn’t get a lot of sleep,” he snaps. “I’m allowed to be tired.”

Shiro stares back at him. Bodies pass around them in the hallway, but Shiro doesn’t notice any of them. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Keith sighs, relenting. “Lance made a lot of noise last night. Kept waking me up.” There. Not a total lie.

“We’ve got to see about getting you your own room. You can’t keep losing sleep like this. I’m worried your performance is going to be affected.”

“I’ve already tried that. Atlas is booked solid. Getting me my own room would mean I’d sleep in a utility closet somewhere.” _And is that really worse than Lance?_ “But I’ll be fine. I’ve been on missions with the Blade before that had us crammed five to a room for weeks on end. I’ll be fine.”

Shiro looks like he doesn’t believe him but isn’t going to push the issue any further. “Just—promise me this. If it does start affecting your performance, we find a way to get you into a solo room. Deal?”

Keith nods. “Deal.”

~~~

Lance flops down into the chair next to him, and Keith almost drops his fork from the force of his landing.

Hunk grins at Lance, and Pidge mutters something none of them hear as she taps away on her computer. “Did you see the latest release of _Death Dragons 4_?”

Lance gasps. “ _Death Dragons 4_ came out? And this is the first time I’m hearing of it?” he all but shrieks. Heads turn, and then immediately go back to their food. Most are used to the Red Paladin’s outbursts by now. “Dude, we have to play that immediately.”

“Well, duh!” Hunk stabs at his chicken. “My room, tonight at eight? I’ll have it all set up by then.”

Lance nods around his food. “Sounds like a deal, my man.” He takes another bite of food and chooses that exact moment to let out a low, lengthy, drawn-out, groan.

Heat spikes down Keith’s core at the noise, tips of his ears beginning to burn.

“I’m so glad they brought back the marsala sauce, dude,” Lance says, groaning again. “It’s like having a mouth orgasm.”

_Their room is dark. The snap of elastic, a low groan. The sound of flesh on flesh._

Keith shoves away from the dining table. “I think I’m gonna go hit the decks. Want to get in some final training for the night.” He stalks away before any of them have a chance to respond. He thinks he might hear Hunk say something about having time to digest, but Keith is already on his way out of there.

Listen. It’s not like he’s not heard Lance make those exact noises before. But it’s always been in situations like this—where he’s drooling over food, or deep into a dream. Keith has never had a baseline to compare them to. Learning that they are _exactly the same_ as when Lance actually does get off is fucking with his head. The one between his ears.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s just a little shaken by knowing what Lance sounds like when he comes. The same boy who flirts with anything that walks, who makes an ass of himself trying to flirt, who manages to fall over himself doing the most basic of tasks. His right hand man. Training partner. Best pilot in all of the galaxy. Lance. Blue eyes, messy brown hair. Smile that can knock just about anyone over.

_It’s fine, goddamit._

Keith does eventually end up on the training deck, kicking the utter shit out of a droid. His stomach hurts (maybe he should have listened harder to the digestion comment), but he feels better. More alive. The endorphins are high, and he feels more awake, even if by the end of it his muscles are sore as all can be. Too many meetings and being a diplomat that keep him from being in shape.

He showers in the gym locker room, distant sounds of others doing the same. There’s lighthearted banter that Keith tunes out. His eyes are closed against the heat of the water, letting it run over his head and down his back. Washing away the lack of sleep and the events of last night.

People get off. It’s only natural. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t do it every now and then. He’d also be lying if he said he never thought about doing it while someone else was in the room. He’s just never actually… you know…

Yeah.

People get off.

No big deal.

The shower turns off—his water ration for the day reached. The sounds of others fade away as it gets later and later. A towel around his waist, Keith steps out of the shower, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders.

Get dressed. Towel off his hair. Gather his belongings. Go back to his room, lie down, go to sleep.

He stands at the exit to the locker room.

Go back to his room, lie down, go to sleep.

It’s never been this hard to try and convince himself that he needs to go back there.

“Fuck it,” he sighs to himself. The hallway lights are dimming, signaling the Atlas residents that it’s nearing curfew.

Lance is lounging on his bed when Keith enters, not looking up from his phone. Keith puts his dirty clothes in the bin, tucks his towel back on the hook on the wall, flops into bed.

Clock hits ten. Lights turn off.

Only the faint illumination comes from Lance’s phone, and when Keith rolls over onto his side, it disappears entirely.

_People get off. It’s no big deal._

He’s hyperaware of Lance behind him, laughing quietly to himself about something on his phone.

_He probably had no idea I was awake. He totally wouldn’t have done it if I was._

Is it normal to think this much about your roommate jacking off? Probably not. Definitely not.

But try as he fucking might, Keith can’t get the sounds out of his head. It’s like the internal volume has been cranked to max and there’s no way to get it back down.

_Long sigh. Elastic snapping. Skin on skin, the slick sounds of precome being smeared around the head of a dick._

The image plays out against his traitorous eyelids. It’s really not that hard to fill in the missing visual details.

_Soft gasp, a hand stilling before picking back up again. Slick, as he pumps up and down._

_That oh-so distinct groan. Cum, spurting up over a clenched fist, wrapped around a pulsing dick._

_Well fuck me sideways,_ Keith thinks sourly to himself as his own dick stirs with interest.

But something about thinking about what happened last night has him being pulled into sleep, eyes drifting fully shut, the sounds of Lance all but forgotten.

He wakes in the middle of the night, heart hammering. He can’t remember falling asleep. The lights are still off, and Lance is snoring from deep inside his bunk.

_Shit, shit, shit._

There’s a specific kind of stickiness making his boxers cling to his thighs and crotch.

Quietly, terrified of Lance waking up, Keith cleans his bedding the best he can before ditching his gross boxers in the bin. Climbs back into bed, evens out his heartbeat, and traces the insides of his eyelids once more.

_People get off. People get off, even by accident. Shit happens._

Guess those noises weren’t all but forgotten.

~~~

Block. Strike. Kick. Follow it up with a combo.

Lance grunts as they spar, Keith advancing easily and Lance having to fight to maintain his meager amount of ground.

It’s been a week since _that night_ , and everything feels fine. He’s able to write it off as being awake at the wrong time, move on.

Lance grins at him, Keith’s only indication before he launches into a spinning kick that manages to catch Keith off-balance, knocking him to the ground. Lance pins him with his knees of either side of Keith’s heaving ribcage, hands loosely circled around Keith’s wrists.

“Point… me,” Lance breathes. That feral grin is something Keith lives for. Lance didn’t grin like that for a long time; he lost too much to Keith in hand to hand combat in their first year of training. Even when he did start winning, it was always an unsure pause, not knowing if Keith let him win. Now, it’s confident. He knows he beat Keith, fair and square.

Lance lets him up with a laugh, offering a hand to help Keith up. Once they’re both standing, Keith uses the hem of his shirt to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

“What?” he asks, feeling Lance’s gaze.

Lance shakes his head as if exiting from a trance, grinning again but there’s something slightly different about it now. “Good to see Shiro’s favorite be bested, that’s all.”

Keith rolls his eyes, dropping his shirt and circling around the ring. “Ready to lose this time?”

“Only if you are.”

Lance’s eyes track him as they circle each other. Rove down his front, lingering on his legs. Move back up until they’re locked on Keith’s again. He moves as if he couldn’t give a damn about their sparring, casual in an effortless way. Like they were just talking about what the menu options are for dinner tonight.

Keith springs. Lance’s eyes wandered again, and Keith saw his moment. Lance reaches up just in time to block him, spinning around to try and throw off Keith’s momentum. It doesn’t work.

Keith launches into a roundhouse kick, only for Lance to duck and spring back with a flying back-kick. It strikes Keith in the sternum, and the air whooshes out of him. He struggles through it, keeping himself upright as Lance moves on the offensive. Uppercut, hook, punch with the right. Keith moves with ease away from all of them, before finally landing an elbow in.

It’s enough to make Lance stumble. Keith follows it with a low kick that has Lance falling back, until Keith is able to feint with a reverse roundhouse only to scoop Lance around the waist and pin him to the mat.

They’re both breathing heavily. Eye to eye, someone distantly calls the point to Keith. His knees feel the corded muscle of Lance’s arms, thighs straining to keep him above Lance’s chest rather than on it.

“I guess I did lose this time,” Lance says, almost as if the words are an afterthought.

Lance shifts underneath him, hands braced on Keith’s legs. A grunt escapes him, face scrunching up. He does it again, lower lip caught between his teeth. Locks eyes with Keith, a tight noise in the back of his throat.

Keith shoots up, up and away, out of the ring, away from Lance.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the_ fuck _was that?_

“Woah, Keith, you okay?” Lance calls after him, and Keith slows his panic-powerwalk into a leisurely stroll.

“Oh, yeah, just needed some water.”

Lance eyes him but doesn’t call him out on the forced tone of his voice.

“Throw me one too?”

Keith does; Lance catches the bottle with ease, that same little grin on his face. Snarky. That’s what that grin is. It’s a snarky little fucker of a grin.

“Thanks.”

The ref calls them back to the ring and they fall into place as Keith does his very best to shake off whatever the hell just happened.

~~~

He doesn’t know what time it is. It’s that blurry line between late night and early in the morning, when the sky isn’t quite dark but not quite light. He’s pretty sure it’s technically the next day but doesn’t want to risk waking Lance in order to check his phone for the time.

Shifting, he flops onto his stomach, burying his nose into his pillow. One leg is at a ninety-degree angle, the other straight out. Arms wrapped around his pillow, cradling it.

Sleep drifts over him in shades of dark blue, drawing him down.

His mind is quiet. His muscles sore from the sparring rounds with Lance earlier. Their room smelling slightly of sweaty clothes.

A snap of elastic has his eyes springing open.

_No, no, no, not again._

Maybe it’s just Lance adjusting his pants. Maybe they got snagged on the blankets and just made that noise when he shifted in his sleep.

Lance is asleep. Lance is asleep.

Lance is _not_ asleep.

It’s that soft groan again, the one that sounds more akin to a released bout of air. The shifting of sheets, the way Lance is clearly trying to be quiet and only mildly succeeding.

Even though he can only see darkness, Keith is wide eyed against his pillow.

He can’t move.

Well, maybe he should move. Just shift around a little in the bed, let Lance know Keith isn’t fully asleep. Yeah, good plan team leader.

He flips over so that his back is to the wall, and huh, he is actually more comfortable now. His eyes are half-open, fingers curling gently in his pillowcase. The noises stop. Keith’s entire being sags with relief.

And then they start again.

Shuffling, like Lance is doing a jig under the sheets. That snap of elastic. A huff, a faint groan, the sound of skin meeting bare skin.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

Keith does nothing as Lance starts to jack himself off. Strains his eyes in the darkness to see a vague outline of Lance on his back, one knee propped up and tenting the sheets. The other flopped down, a lewd moving hand under the white cotton.

Keith knows exactly what that hand is doing. Would know even if he didn’t have the added visual this time.

He can’t see where Lance’s other hand is, but Lance stills his movements with a broken gasp, before resuming. His hand moves faster, and Keith feels his pulse match the rhythm Lance is setting.

It’s quite possibly the lewdest thing Keith has ever heard, and he’s been bent over the back of an ancient couch and fucked raw by an alien dick. Even _that_ didn’t sound as absolutely filthy as Lance fucking his fist in the dark.

There’s a keening noise as Lance’s hand speeds up. Keith can’t tear his eyes away from the motion under the blankets, entranced by the way his hand moves.

Lance is moaning. Lance is actually moaning here in the dark and Keith struggles to not respond with his own noises.

Let’s get one thing clear: Keith isn’t into Lance. Not in the slightest. But someone getting off in the dark next to you is going to be hot, especially when said person is so fucking attractive you wondered if you died the first time you met him. Just because he’s not at all into Lance doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the hotness going on six feet away from him.

“Ah, fuck,” Lance whispers, and the hand—impossibly—speeds up. Keith can feel his own dick pulsing in his underwear but like hell is he going to touch this.

He will _not_ get off to Lance getting off.

Lance’s breath stutters as his hand grinds to a halt, and he lets out the dirtiest sound Keith has ever heard him make.

_Fuck me in the ass and choke me too,_ Keith thinks, and then immediately regrets having the ability to think.

They’re both still and quiet for a moment, and Keith wonders if Lance is just going to fall asleep with his dick in his hand and cum in his underwear.

But then there’s the sound of tissues being snatched, and Keith hears blankets being tossed off and underwear being switched.

His eyes are finally closed, and he does his best to keep his breathing even.

Not even ten minutes later and Lance’s breath has evened out. Keith waits until he starts snuffling in his sleep to check his phone for the time.

11:53 pm.

Well, fuck.

~~~

Here’s the thing. He knows guys get off—that people get off generally. It’s a fun thing when you discover that your down there region can make you feel good all over. He’s been in rooms where guys have gotten off before. He’s seen some weird ass alien dicks in his time, heard his fellow Blade members not so subtly jerk one in the shower.

But Lance is.

Different.

Maybe it’s because he knows what Lance looks like in the daylight. Maybe it’s because he was so fucking close to him, that there was no way he _couldn’t_ imagine what was going on over there. Maybe, maybe it’s totally because for the first time—he saw someone getting off outside a screen.

It’s also. It’s also the fact that it’s Lance.

He’s not really sure _why_ the person in question being Lance has anything to do with anything, but he can’t seem to fucking unstick the memory from his head. It’s totally not normal to replay that scene over and over and over again in your head when said person sleeps six feet away from you, but his mind can’t seem to help itself.

_Maybe it’s because I haven’t gotten any in a while._ That could totally be a contributing factor. It’s been months since they’ve been on the Atlas, and most of their stuff is unfortunately monitored by the girl he thinks of as a little sister. Also not helped by the fact that he isn’t quite as shameless as Lance.

_Fuck, maybe I really do just need to get some._

It’s totally the reason why he can’t stop thinking about this.

Right?

Yeah.

Yeah.

It’s always been like this for him. Every now and then he’ll find a little thing and just _fixate_ on it. Nothing he does will make it go away; his brain just keeps churning and churning and churning the same fucking information over and over.

This just happens to be what he’s fixated on.

He sighs, looks over at Lance’s sleeping form.

“Goddamit,” he huffs.

Closes his eyes.

Memorizes the inside of his eyelids until the automated lights blink on and wake Lance up.

He stretches and lets out a groan that has Keith’s pulse spiking.

“Good morning, team leader. How’d you sleep?”  
~~~

He’s halfway to a meeting when Shiro passes by him in the hall, snags him by the upper arm, and turns him around.

“I’m assuming you didn’t get the page?”

“How old do you think I am?”

Shiro ignores the barb. “Last minute mission. I need you and Lance to go and take care of it. Details are already programed into Black. Shouldn’t take more than two or three days.”

“Why am I just finding out about this?”

“It’s called an emergency.”

Ah. Yes. You know, because he’s part of the elite “time to save the world!” crew.

“Are you good, Shiro?”

Shiro huffs but does slow down just a bit. “I’m stressed. Not used to commanding this many people. The rebuilding effort is quite the… well, effort. I didn’t really think I was cut out for this but here we are.” Keith can see the stress in his older brother’s eyes. See the lines running down from them and the set to his mouth that is unreadable unless you know him like Keith does.

“You’re doing great, Shiro. Better than anyone else I know. No one else would be able to handle it with the same grace that you do. You’re amazing.”

Shiro gives him a weak but genuine smile. “Thanks, Keith. Now you need to go on this mission, and I have to go handle diplomatic duties.” Shiro pulls him in for a quick and tight hug. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Love you, brother.”

“Love you back.”

Keith finds Black waiting for him in her special hanger, eyes glowing as he approaches. He also finds a certain lanky boy leaning against her paw, reading over something on a holopad.

“Ready to go?”

Keith gives a general noise of assent while firmly not looking in his direction. Black opens her jaw to let Keith in, and Lance has to do an awkward scramble to be let in before she firmly clicks her mouth shut.

**_Why are we upset at the boy today?_ **

Keith pushes a general image back at her, and she purrs in amusement.

**_Trivial human issues. Understood._ **

The hangar door is opening as Keith receives the signal that they’re clear to fly. He slides into the pilot’s seat, Black’s controls rumbling under his hands. They’re ready in less than three minutes. Lance says something about looking for an extra chair, but Keith doesn’t hear him.

They’re off, shooting up into orbit. The Atlas hangs just above the stratosphere; close to earth, but not so close that local air traffic runs into them. It’s not long before they’re breaking out into space.

A black expanse of stars greets them, and everything in Keith relaxes. They’ve been on earth for a while now, and every time they do manage to make a space trip, it’s always on the Atlas. Never in a pilot’s chair, not for him. The rare occasion still feels like coming home.

There’s something about space that’s quiet. No sound travels beyond your own ship, nothing to startle you. The planets look like stars and the stars look like peace. There’s nothing holding him down in space, nothing pressing on his chest. Nothing feeling like he doesn’t belong.

“I feel like you totally could have waited until I was seated before we took off, but whatever,” Lance grumbles, popping up behind Keith’s right elbow.

“It’s on you if you didn’t find a seat fast enough,” Keith snaps back.

A click of a jaw opening and then being hastily shut. “What’s up with you today, man?” Lance finally manages. “You’ve been weird for like, a week now, but there’s something even more wrong about today.”

“Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Uh huh.”

“Drop it, Lance.”

“Make me,” Lance mutters, but does indeed drop it. They haven’t bickered like this since they were beginners. It feels weird. Unnatural.

_Yeah, well, it’s both weird and unnatural when your best friend jerks off when he thinks you’re asleep._

Keith shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He really can’t afford to keep thinking about it.

“What’s the emergency?” Keith asks, distracting himself.

“Uhh,” Lance says, pulling his holopad out again. “Nearby planet found something Galra memorabilia in a mine. Want us to remove it for inspection. They request absolute discretion…” Lance trails off, reading more. “Something about threats of a revolution. They’ve been unsettled for some time now.”

“Planet name?”

“J2M4BRR,” Lance reads off. “Or, as the locals call it, Jambee.”

Keith begins to plug in the planet name into Black’s controls before Lance violently slaps his hand away.

“Woah, woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?”

“The hell are _you_ doing?” Keith snarls back. “You just slapped my hands!”

“They request _utmost discretion_ ,” Lance repeats, brow pinched. “We can’t just wormhole into their atmosphere and not cause a panic.” 

“If they want discretion, why are we in the face of Voltron, then?”

“Black is the only ship we have right now that can cover the distance and back without being absolutely burned out.”  
Keith is almost afraid to ask the next question. “And how far are we going, exactly?”

Lance checks his holopad again, before his eyes roll up to the ceiling and he mutters something in Spanish. “Half a day’s journey there.”  
“That’s not that bad,” Keith says, frowning.

“With a wormhole.”

_Ah. There’s the catch._

“So why don’t we wormhole into a generalized area near there— _not_ close enough to create chaos—” he adds when he sees Lance’s face, “and then go from there?”

Lance checks the information. “Yeah, that should work.”

Keith plugs in the new coordinates, and then sits back as Black readies to make the jump.

“I’m going to find an actual seat this time,” Lance mumbles, before clapping Keith on the shoulder. Keith stiffens under the touch, and Lance’s hand stills.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keith says, gaze on the stars. “Just sore from training.”

Lance’s touch lightens. “Sure,” he says slowly. “Imma go find that seat now.”

The thing is, when you’re trying really hard not to think about something, it doesn’t really help when the thing you’re trying not to think about has the ability to walk and talk.

Lance settles himself into one of the chairs behind Keith, grunting as he finds a comfortable spot. There’s a spike of annoyance in Keith’s gut. He doesn’t have to fucking make that noise with every move he makes.

Lance does it again.

It’s quiet for a moment.

And then a third time.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Keith snaps.

In the reflection of the windshield (if it can be called that), he sees Lance stilling, hands frozen as he buckles himself in. His face is pinched above the neck of his suit, holopad balancing precariously on one knee.

He finishes buckling himself in, and Keith continues to watch his reflection out of the corner of his eye. It’s probably the only way Keith can really look him in the face today.

Something feels… off.

He can’t pinpoint exactly what, but he knows it’s not just him that’s being weird.

**_Three seconds_** , Black warns him.

Lance swears with the sudden jolt into a wormhole. Keith’s eyes go fuzzy and everything blurs around him until they exit.

Keith’s tongue is heavy in his mouth when he finally comes back to his senses, and he shifts his jaw to pop his ears. Lance does some weird trill behind him that has Keith rolling his eyes, and then finally, they settle.

But… can you really settle when nothing feels right? When the shift of movement behind you brings back _other_ memories and his reflection in the glass shows you more than you want to see?

_Because you can’t stand to see anything if it’s not everything._

These are the thoughts and questions still swimming around his mind when Lance strolls up to the control panel and plops his armored ass right on the desk.

**_Excuse me?_ **

“Lance…” It’s a warning, and the only one Keith is going to give him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance scoffs. “You know you love me, Black Baby.”

**_I most certainly do not._ **

Keith bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in check.

“What, Lance?”

“We’ve still got a few more hours until we’re at Jambee, so I figured we could go over what Shiro’s sent us about it. It’s a _weirdddd_ fucking planet,” Lance says, the last part dropping down to a mutter as his eyes scan his holopad.

“Just how weird? Cause we’ve seen some shit.”

“The Galra tried to capture this planet like, four different times before they were successful. For the longest time, Jambee was classified as uninhabited, and then suddenly, life just, I don’t know, _sprung up_. There’re no records of them being cave dwellers or anything like that, so there’s no reason they would have been missed all this time. But then the moment the Galra tried to scope for resources—BOOM! A population of 3 million across the planet.” Lance’s brow furrows and Keith trains his attention back on the readings Black was giving him.

“And we’re going to what? Take out Galra memorabilia?” Keith shifts the controls. “Don’t they have their own government system that can handle that?”

Lance shrugs. “I’m sure they do but… Shiro said something about a threat of a revolution.” He looks up from his tablet, and Keith can feel those blue eyes trained on his neck. “They want us to take it, for some reason.”

Keith knows there’s more that Lance wants to say, but he’s not going to push. Things feel… _okay…_ right now, and Keith doesn’t want to mess with whatever weird peace they’ve established.

“Just feels weird,” Lance murmurs at last.

“A little,” Keith concedes. He checks Black’s controls again. “We’re about three hours out. There’s not really anything else we can do to prepare—sounds like a discrete entrance, grab the stuff, make a hasty and discrete exit. Easy stuff.”

“Yeah. Easy.”

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the glass, and Keith can’t bring himself to break the gaze.

“You okay, man?” Lance asks Glass-Keith.

Keith watches himself reply out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

Glass-Lance immediately oozes sympathy. “Why don’t you grab a nap? I’m sure Black would be okay to let me pilot her the rest of the way.”

Keith hesitates, and Glass-Lance turns and suddenly becomes real Lance again. “I’ll wake you when we’re a half hour out, okay? Go sleep, dude. You need it.”

Keith looks at Lance, _really_ looks at him, and finally, nods.

**_Are you sure about this boy?_ **

_Just don’t let him change any of the controls while I’m asleep._

Black’s purr rumbles in his ears as he stands from the pilot’s chair and makes his way down to her belly where his old bunk lay—the one he used when they were making the journey ho—back to Earth.

And before Keith can even close his eyes, he’s out.

~~~

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and before Keith is fully aware of what’s happening, his own is circling around the wrist of the stranger. Flipping their positions as Keith slides out of his bunk and spins the stranger over his back and hears them land with a huff. His knee to their chest.

Keith blinks, and realizes he’s just pinned Lance to the bed where he lay just moments ago.

Lance’s pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, and lips parted. His breathing—which had been coming in rapid spurts—now evens out as he watches Keith assess him.

“I thought I told you not to touch me when I’m asleep,” Keith says in a low voice.

“I thought you might have finally grown out of it,” Lance says back, lips curling at the corners.

Keith can feel Lance’s jackrabbit heartbeat under his palm, can feel the solid chest built from years of training.

“Scared, McClain?”

_And why did that just come out of my mouth?_

“Never,” Lance breathes. “Never of you.”

Keith—he’s pretty sure he’s lost all control of himself at this point—pushes down. Just a fraction. Just enough to make Lance groan under his hand, sounding so much like—

“You should be,” he growls, and then he’s pulling back his hand like Lance burned him. Stalking away from whatever the _fuck_ that interaction just was.

**_Trivial human problems, eh?_ **

_Hush,_ he snarls.

His lion laughs at him.

Jambee looms in the distance, a speck that grows larger and larger the longer it takes Lance to emerge from the bunks.

Keith doesn’t question the delay as he snaps on his armor. Lance, for his part, doesn’t offer an explanation.

“What are their systems like?”

“Huh?”

Keith glares at him as he buckles his chest plate. “As in, if we jet pack into their atmosphere, are they going to detect us on any radar systems? Are we at risk of being gunned down?”

“Oh. Uh, no, not as far as Shiro said. The part we’re dropping in at is fairly deserted. Shouldn’t encounter any local life at all, actually.”

Keith nods as he finishes suiting up, helmet tucked under his arm.

Lance shoots him a look over his shoulder, that same crease between his eyebrows. “Does this seem sketchy at all to you? That we’re not encountering anyone, going into someplace totally deserted, but they’re _still_ worried enough about people finding the Galra remains that they’ve called us in to remove it?”

“We’ve got a job to do, Lance,” Keith snaps. “We’re not paid to question it.”

Lance gapes at him, a retort ready, but Keith doesn’t hear it.

He slips his helmet on and leaves the cockpit, but something about it nags at him too. There’s definitely something not _right_ about the situation, but Keith has always been, “act first, question later.”

“We’re approaching the drop point.” Lance’s voice comes through his comm set, and Keith switches the channel open.

“Roger that.”

They make their way down to Black’s maw, and they share one last look before the hangar drops open and they’re free floating in space.

Keith struggles to orient himself as Lance zips off, zooming toward Jambee. He lags behind as he makes sure Black’s cloaking is in place. God knows all they need is to get discovered because he forgot to do the one simple thing Pidge enabled him to do.

Lance is descending into the atmosphere first, and Keith feels the familiar pull of gravity on his insides as they get sucked down toward the center of the planet. Thin wisps of clouds stream past his visor and Keith has a moment to notice how they’re in an area that looks almost like Arizona, if Arizona was drier and less cactus-y. Maybe a little like Oriien, if he was really stretching the imagination.

The thoughts are pretty much blasted from his head the closer he gets to the surface, where his helmet does little to keep out the shrieking of the wind and his jetpack doesn’t exactly do much more than provide a gentle suggestion as to where he’s going.

A cloud of dust blooms where Lance lands, and Keith scoffs to himself. _So much for discrete._

To be fair, Keith’s landing isn’t much better. Red sand coats the white parts of his paladin suit and he grunts as his knees take the brunt of the impact. Lance is busy dusting himself off by the time Keith stands, and there’s just enough visibility for Keith to see how royally ticked Lance is about the prospect of cleaning all of this off.

“Shiro said the mission should take two to three days,” Keith says in channel to Lance.

“That long?”

Keith shrugs. “We’ll probably scope the area to figure out just how much we’re dealing with, make camp, and then take it in the cover of the night. If we’re lucky, we can get back to Black by dawn. It’ll take us time to get back to the Atlas.”

Lance considers. “Time frame sounds about right then. Let’s get ‘er done.”

Keith pulls up a map on his visor to where the Galra memorabilia is. They’ve managed to drop fairly close to it; about an hour’s walk if he’s being generous.

They don’t talk while they walk, which has left Keith’s mind no choice except to replay what happened in the bunk. Over. And over. And over.

The way Lance’s chest felt, heaving under his palm.

The way his pupils were blown so wide Keith could almost forget the shade of blue his eyes were. _As if._

The way Keith liked how it felt to have full control, power over Lance, watch Lance squirm under his grip in the still warm sheets.

And it was that last thought that caused Keith the most trouble.

Because when he thought of that, he thought about the six feet of distance between them every single night. How Lance got off with him _right fucking there_ and was becoming less and less subtle about it.

It’s happened twice now, and how Keith still hasn’t said a goddamn word.

And why that is.

“I think we’re nearing the cave,” he says, and has to clear the huskiness out of his throat. Lance cocks his head back at him, but mercifully doesn’t comment.

The cave is more like just an opening in the ground. Keith double and then triple checks the coordinates to make sure they’re in the right spot.

“More and more of this feels sketchy as hell,” Lance mutters, and it feels like he forgot the comms channel was open.

Keith is really starting to agree.

“I’ll send in a remote scope and we can see what’s down there.”

Lance doesn’t say anything as Keith unhooks the video scope from the rig on his back, setting it up and then attaching the feed to both of their helmet visors.

The narrow drone gets dropped into the hole, and they both step back as it explores, watching the video come in. It’s dusty—that’s mainly what the camera shows them. Dusty, but a few recent sets of footprints.

“Probably whoever discovered it. Someone had to phone us,” Lance says, but Keith can hear the skepticism.

The drone whirls through the cave and Keith momentarily switches off the feed to examine their surroundings above ground. It’s nothing but desert sand and the stray flora as far as the eye can see. Whoever came wandering out here that found this was either looking for it—or made an unlucky accidental find.

_But why come out here in the first place?_

“Fuck,” Lance swears, and Keith turns the video feed back on.

_Fuck indeed._

Mountains—and he quite literally means _mountains_ —of Galra items are nestled within this cave system. Guns that haven’t been used in centuries, war helmets, flags with the Galra message. All of it.

“Someone was certainly a sympathizer,” Keith mutters.

“Either sympathizer, or this was a base of some sort.” Lance swears again. “How the hell are the two of us going to get all of this out?”

“It’ll take all night, but we’ll get it done.” Keith watches the feed. “I’ve never seen some of this before.”

“Me either.”

They stand in silence until the scope reaches the far end of the cave. There’s significantly more than Keith anticipated, and he’s not sure of the logistics of getting all of this out without having Black here to load it directly into her. They don’t have enough fuel to make several round trips to and from the lion, but it’s too much for the two of them alone to transport on their own with one trip.

Lance must see his look. “We’ll figure it out, man. We always do.”

Keith nods.

They discuss as they wait for dusk to fall. With the amount of material, they’ll need to transport out—and given the _type_ of material they’re removing—there’s no choice but to do it in the cover of dark. Keith would like to wait until it’s fully night before they even begin, but dusk will have to do.

The question of _how the fuck_ they’re getting this out of here is still a topic of debate by the time Lance shimmies down into the hole and Keith follows suit. He’s in favor of doing their damndest to bring all of it in one haul between the two of them, and have Black meet them a little closer than the initial drop point. Lance—and his _gut feeling_ that there’s something weird about this whole operation wants to try and keep their cover as much as possible. He’s yet to offer an alternative solution that lets them do that.

So for now, they bag the material in silence.

Relative, silence.

Lance grunts every now and then Keith shuts those thoughts down before they even form in his head.

He’s sweating, and they only have so much time, and while the scope showed them how much was down here, Keith didn’t really process just how much was down here.

There is _no time_ for thoughts like that.

Not even when a particular grunt escapes Lance’s mouth, so close to Keith’s ear through his helmet, and Keith has to stop with his hand against the cave wall to get his bearings back.

_No. Absolutely not._

Life apparently does not get that memo.

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

“What?”

Keith feels Lance shift behind him and refuses to glance back, stuffing a Galra helmet into a black bag.

“You said you haven’t been sleeping well but… is it me? Did I do something?”

“What? No, Lance,” Keith snaps.

“Because I really thought we were cool, where we could talk about things like this. Like if we had a problem with each other we could say it face to face instead of making shit weird for days.”

“There’s no problem, Lance,” Keith growls, and feels something snap under his hands.

Lance scoffs. “There’s clearly a problem because you just broke that staff. Why won’t you tell me?”

_Because how in the hell am I supposed to tell you that I listened to you get off—twice—and didn’t say anything about it? Because it’s weird enough that I didn’t say anything and if I do say something now, that’s gonna ruin shit._

_Well maybe he shouldn’t have gotten off in the room with you there in the first place,_ his mind counters, doing nothing but fan the flames.

While Keith has the silent argument with himself, Lance has managed to move closer.

“You gonna tell me, or what?” he asks in a low voice. Keith realizes he’s close enough that he can see the sweat on Lance’s brow, that fucking crease between his eyebrows. The way his blue eyes are narrowed but not in anger— _concern_ —and Keith can’t take it.

“I told you there wasn’t a problem, so don’t make a problem just because you need drama, Lance.”

It’s a slap to the face and Lance reels. And now, _now_ those blue eyes are narrowed in anger.

“Fuck you, Kogane,” Lance hisses. “I’ve done nothing but try and have your back and this? This is what I fucking get? You’re a goddamn asshole.”

This is a moment he’ll replay over and over. To try and figure out which one of them did it.

“And you’re a goddamn nuisance,” Keith retorts, lip curling and anger bubbling.

“I just don’t fucking understand how you can’t manage to let anyone in. The loner routine is overdone, haven’t you heard?”  
“Maybe I can let people in! Maybe I just don’t want to let you in, ever thought of that? You’re nothing but surface level, lover boy.”

“Fuck you,” Lance spits, and Keith can tell he’s truly hit a nerve this time.

“Like I’d ever let you anywhere near me.”

Lance is shaking as Keith’s words echo around the cave.

“Hello? Is someone down there?”  
 _Somewhere, in the heat of the moment, the comms had been projected from a private channel to the speakers on the outside of their helmets._

Their fight is forgotten—for now—when they lock eyes and Keith knows the thought that crosses both of their minds.

_Who the fuck is that and why are they all the way out here?_

Keith makes sure they’re firmly in the internal, _private_ channel before he speaks. “Don’t move.”

“No duh, dipshit.”

They stand there, staring at each other in the dim light. Keith hears his breath rattle inside of his helmet.

“Hello?” the voice calls again, followed by the sound of scattering pebbles. “I can see a light—who’s down there?”

Lance swears, and Keith has no goddamn clue what to do. Because this looks bad. Very, very bad.

The half-Galra leader of Voltron, stealing Galra remnants under the cover of the dark on a desert planet? Totally normal.

Not.

More pebbles scrabble but this time it’s Lance as he hauls ass throwing the bags of stuff they’d already collected back behind stuff they hadn’t. Keith doesn’t really catch on, but he helps, working as quietly and as quickly as possible.

A light spot dances closer and closer to where they are, and when Lance turns to Keith, the last bag stowed, the look in Lance’s eye has Keith freezing. He knows that look. He knows that look and he is _not_ a fan of what that look means.

It’s Lance’s “I have an idea and you’re not gonna like it but it’s going to save our asses anyways,” Look™.

There are footsteps approaching and the next three things happen in such rapid succession that Keith will also replay this moment, alone in the dark, later on.

  1. Lance’s visor lifts.
  2. Lance reaches out and opens Keith’s visor.
  3. Lance kisses Keith.



That last one deserves to be more of a “Lance forcefully puts his mouth on Keith’s and Keith is too shocked to do anything except stand there.”

The light spot stops and holds on them, and Lance breaks the kiss.

Keith doesn’t look at the intruder. He only looks at Lance’s red lips, slick and ripe and wonders what in all fuck got them here.

“Oh,” says both Lance and the Jambeeian at the same time, and both laugh. Each sound strained in a different way.

“Why didn’t you answer my call?” the Jambeeian asks, and Lance grabs Keith’s hand and Keith fights the urge to pull away.

“Oh uh,” Lance chuckles. “That might be my fault. We heard about Jambee as a vacation place and ugh, the duties that come with saving the universe ya know? We just needed to get away for a little bit, but my boyfriend and I know we’re not exactly unfamiliar faces, so it can be kinda hard not to cause a scene. Our plan was to land in the desert, and then come into town with some different clothes on, blend in ya know? But we were totally off with where we landed and it was dark, so we figured we’d just make camp for the night. And then, well,” Lance shoots a glance at Keith, and Keith is surprised to see his cheeks are tinted red. “He’s kinda irresistible. Got caught up in each other I suppose.”

The Jambeeian looks between them, and then down at their clasped hands, and breaks into a grin. “Ahh, young love. I understand it well.” He looks around. “Odd place to end up, though.” Keith doesn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Just wanted some place away from the elements,” Keith manages tightly.

The Jambeeian nods. “Can’t blame you.” His—well, presumably it’s a him—eyes sweep over the cave another time. “Would ya mind calling down your pretty kitty? It’s always been a dream of mine to see one of the Lions of Voltron in person.”

Keith shoots Lance a glance, and he knows what they’re both thinking.

“I’ll send up a call,” Keith mutters, and steps away from Lance. Lance squeezes his hand once, and Keith is about to wrench his gloved fingers away before he remembers they have an audience, and then he squeezes back. Just once.

Keith has to wrench himself out of the whole and stands in the cold desert waiting for his lion. She arrives and he pouts when she makes less of a sand cloud than either of them, landing with ancient grace.

**_Are you really surprised? You have the mechanics of a fly, feeble boy._ **

_Hush._

The Jambeeian laughs a hearty sound when he sees the lion, kicking up sand as he races toward her. Keith mentally calms her down as he strokes her paw, pushing images her way of what exactly went down in the cave.

She has the audacity to laugh at him.

_It was entirely against my will. I’ve done worse to create a cover._

**_Yes, but this one makes me laugh._ **

He’s too far away to hear what Lance and the man are laughing about, but whatever it is, Keith hopes it’s a good sign that they’re laughing. They clasp hands, and then Lance is making his way back to Keith, leaving the Jambeeian staring up at Black.

“What’d you say?”

Lance shrugs smile on his face. “Just that he could image how much of a scene it would cause if we came down with Black in tow, and we were really looking for discretion on our little romantic holiday, so if he could keep it to himself that would be great.”

Keith scowls at the idea of this being a romantic holiday. “At least we’ve got a way to get all of this out of here now,” he mutters.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, we’d be a hell of a lot worse of right now. I’m pretty sure a thanks are in order,” Lance snaps.

Their fight in the cave comes rushing back at him, along with everything else leading up to it.

Yeah. Thanking Lance is the last thing he’d be doing. If he could take care of his habits in the shower like a normal person, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

He goes to retort with something rude when he sees that the man is gone. Like, no footprints in the sand, _gone._

_Black?_

**_The man is not within me._ **

“The dude is gone.”

“What? The hell do you mean he’s gone?”

“Fuck if I know, but he’s not there anymore. Black says she’s not in him either.”

Lance shivers. “This planet freaks me the hell out. Let’s finish and go home.”

_Couldn’t have said it better myself._

With Black here now, they do it so that Lance bags in the caves and Keith loads from the caves into Black. One of two suns begin to touch the sky by the time they’re finally finished, equally drenched in sweat and exhausted.

“Is that it?” Keith asks.

“It better be.”

Keith holds out a hand to help haul Lance out of the hole, and Lance nods thanks at him.

Things are weird. And it’s not just the planet.

They load up, and Keith waits until Lance is buckled before he gives Black to all clear to go ahead and take off. His face smooshes back into his bones and gravity tries to encourage him to stay before losing that fight to the pull of space.

Neither of them talks on the ride home, and before long, Keith nods off in the pilot’s chair, Lance not far behind him.

Keith dreams of Jambee and their fight. But instead of the caves, they’re standing in the swirling red sand, so close but so far. The way only dream logic can make happen. They’re fighting but Lance is saying something important, something Keith is desperate to cling onto when he wakes panting, gripping the armrests of the pilot chair.

But as Black guides him into landing in the Atlas, whatever dream Keith remembered is long gone.

~~~

“We’ll debrief in the morning.”

Keith wishes they had debriefed when they had gotten back and unloaded Black, instead of leaving it to a morning meeting. He can’t stop thinking about all of the various items they pulled out, how someone else now is handling all of those Galra things and tagging and cataloging them. It should be him. It’s _his_ heritage, even if it is a shitty one.

But he’s here. In his bunk.

Memorizing the inside of his eyelids and trying to coax his body into sleep.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally feels that familiar dark blue, the stiffness of his back easing as his body finally relaxes into the mattress. Feels himself slowly start to get dragged under…

The snap of elastic, and Keith’s brain instantly has him back awake.

_Motherfucker._

He waits. Listens to the telltale sounds and hates that it only took twice for him to recognize the noises of Lance getting off.

There’s nothing, and Keith grimaces at the ceiling as he tries to re-relax himself.

And then… something.

The softest groan, the sound of fabric sliding against bare skin. Keith shifts his eyes just enough to start to see Lance palm himself under the sheets, and Keith does his damndest to conceal his swallow.

There’s a slick noise when Lance runs his palm over the head of his cock, collecting the precum there. Using it as lube and causing Keith’s eyes to flutter as he listens to the slick sounds of Lance jacking off.

He must really think Keith’s asleep tonight because when his hand speeds up, there’s the distinct slap of balls against a fist and a semi-muffled groan.

And Keith hates the way his own dick tents his underwear, hates the way it strains and leaks as he listens to Lance—one of his best friends—get off. Six feet away.

“Ah, fuck,” Lance whimpers, and Keith’s self-control is an old receipt in your dad’s office shredder.

“Fuck, Keith.”

Keith chokes on his own spit, and everything inside the room comes to a grinding halt.

“OHMYGOD YOU ARE AWAKE AND LISTENING TO ME GET OFF!”

“YOU WERE DOING THIS PURPOSEFULLY!?”

Lance is breathing heavily, and Keith feels like he isn’t breathing at all.

“Is this why you’ve been weird?”

“Yes! Because what the fuck man!” Keith can’t help the bubbling anger in his voice, the way it pitches as his brain processes all of this new information at once.

Keith is sitting up in bed now, head in his hands, when he hears Lance shifting around in his own bed. For a moment, his face burns when he thinks Lance is going right back to doing _that_ , until Lance says, “Relax, man.” There’s the sound of Lance digging in a drawer and then the cap of something being popped and squirted. “It’s hand sanitizer.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“How was I supposed to say something?” Keith groans. “Like, ‘Hey man, I listened to you get off in the dark and didn’t say anything about it cause I didn’t want things to be weird.’ There’s literally no good way to bring it up.”

“You could have told me right then and there,” Lance grumbles, and Keith can imagine the shade of red his face is right now.

_Well maybe I didn’t cause it was kind of hot listening to you get off,_ a traitorous voice in his head whispers.

“I didn’t know how to,” Keith says.

“Fuck,” Lance groans, and Keith knows he’s embarrassed. Hell, Keith can’t even begin to imagine the position Lance is in. “Well,” Lance says, mock laughter in his tone, “glad we finally discussed this.”

“Yeah,” Keith says weakly.

_Fuck things feel weird now. Like, pre-bonding moment weird._

Keith shifts on his bed and lays back down, sheet tucked up to his chin and hands folded on his chest. But his eyes aren’t closed. They track patterns through the tacky stars stuck to the ceiling, faded but resilient still halfway into the night.

“So we’re never talking about this again and I’m getting off in the shower from now on?” Lance asks.

“Yup,” Keith says, popping the ‘p’.

Lance sighs but doesn’t say anything more.

Keith has never been good at gauging the passage of time, but if he guessed, he’d say it had been about half an hour. A clock would correct him and tell him it’s been eighteen minutes.

“Listen, I’m… I’m really sorry about what I said on Jambee,” he says in a low voice, and Lance stops shuffling in his bed. “It was way out of line.”

“We both said some shit,” Lance replies in a low voice. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though. I didn’t mean what I said about you being nothing but surface level.” Keith cringes in the darkness as he remembers his own words. “What you did back there, that quick thinking—it really saved our asses. I would have stood there like a fool.”

Lance snorts. “I know.” A long breath of air gets blown out from his mouth. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the apology. And I’m sorry for what I said as well. And for making you feel like this wasn’t something you could talk about with me.”

“Thanks.”

It’s another few minutes of silence before Lance speaks again. “Night, Keith.”  
“Night, Lance.”

But try as he might, he can’t stop replaying the memory of his name coming from Lance’s mouth like _that_. The way he felt heat all the way down in his groin and how he didn’t exactly hate it.

_Another warm body, and that’s it. Lance is attractive and you’re horny and it’s all hormones and shit. Nothing else to it._

He falls asleep with his hands fisted in the sheets and his back to Lance.

~~~

Shiro sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Keith had caught him just after the debrief of the Jambee excursion (which Lance and Keith both agreed went “totally fine, no problems or worries or suspicious characters at all”).

“I’ll see what I can do,” his older brother says at last. “We don’t exactly have the numbers for it but…”

Keith gives him a grateful grin. “Thanks, man.”

He’s about to walk off when Shiro catches him by the arm. “I just have one final question about the mission.”

“What’s up?”

“The call I got… it felt weird. That’s why I sent the two of you out there. They didn’t ask for discretion. That was a note I put in there. Keith it was…” Shiro frowns. “I don’t know how else to describe it other than off.”

Keith hesitates, debating how much to tell him. “There was an encounter with a local. But we handled it!” he says hurriedly when Shiro’s brows skyrocket. “Everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Shiro murmurs, still looking worried. He’s got that far-away, calculating look on his face that Keith knows better than to inquire about. “I’ll see what I can do for your request.”

“Thanks.”

And the moment he walks away, the encounter leaves Keith’s mind.

~~~

The lights are dim, and Lance is already in bed by the time Keith returns to the room, face mask and headphones firmly in place. He’s flipping through a magazine and nods minutely to Keith when he walks in.

Shoes at the foot of the bed. Shirt shucked off and put into the clean basket, because he only wore it from the locker room showers to the bedroom. Socks in the dirty hamper. Towel left hanging on the hook at the door.

In the time it takes him to do all of this, Lance peels of his sheet mask (“Sit down, it’s time to learn about skin care, desert fucker”), stows his magazine, tucks away his headphones.

They’re ready for bed at the same time, and the lights automatically shut off when their cabin senses this.

Keith tucks himself into his sheets and settles in, letting his mind ease and his body relax. There’s none of the hypertension that came with the worries of Lance possibly getting off and what Keith would have to do about that.

Nothing but easy, blissful sleep awaits him.

He’s halfway there when a husky voice drags him back to the surface. “Keith?”

“Hmm?”

Lance is quiet, and Keith can picture the face he’s making as he mulls over his words. “Is there any other reason you didn’t tell me sooner?”

_Because it’s hot as fuck knowing you get off six feet away from me._

Keith hesitates a beat too long. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”  
Keith hears Lance shift in bed and chances a glance over to find his head propped up on his palm and his elbow resting on his pillow.

His voice drops. “So you didn’t like hearing your name come out of my mouth?”

“Lance,” Keith warns.

“It’s not like I’m into you or anything,” Lance says hurriedly. “But sometimes it’s nice to have another warm body involved. Get off with someone rather than by yourself. Added visuals and enhanced experience.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Though his voice is steady, his heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Maybe so.” Lance pauses again, and Keith knows forever isn’t forty seconds. “It doesn’t have to be anything,” he says at last. “Just two bros helping each other out. Satisfying a mutual need and all that.”

“Not interested.”

Lance sighs. “When’s the last time you got any? Don’t even try and tell me you don’t have pent up frustration.”

“Not your business, Lance.”

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying. Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Keith swallows. “Tell me one last thing? Honestly?”

“What?”  
“Did it turn you on, me getting off, right here? Right next to you?”

Keith hates himself when he answers, “Yeah. It did.”

Lance makes a self-satisfied noise. “Thought so.”

Keith hates even more that his dick is hard. Not fully but aroused just enough from their discussion that he’s aware of the way it feels, pressing against his underwear.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Huh?”

Keith’s voice drops as his hand snakes under the sheets, resting just above his waistband. “Whatever we may do, here—between us, in this room—it doesn’t mean anything. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, and then clears his throat. “I know.”

“Good.”

Because you know what? Maybe Lance had a point. Maybe Keith did miss getting off with someone, even if it was a mutual masturbation type thing. Maybe he just needed _something_.

And something that meant nothing.

He was real good at doing things— _pretty boys, boys with blue eyes and flashing grins_ —that meant nothing the day after.

And maybe this was all a mistake and a disaster waiting to implode—but Keith enjoyed those too.

They’d deal with the aftermath when it came.

“So how…” Keith clears his throat. “How do we do this?”

“I’m kinda already halfway there. Not sure about you.”

Keith’s hand drifts lower, palming himself through his underwear. “Yeah,” Keith murmurs. “Yeah, me too.”

Keith doesn’t dare to look over at Lance, not even when he lets out a groan and Keith’s dick jumps against his hand. His teeth sink into his lip, breath coming in short bursts of air as he finally slips his fingers below his waistband, hand curling around the base of his dick.

He can hear Lance stroking his dick, but Keith just waits. Holds for a minute, takes the situation in.

And then he finally gives in.

His strokes don’t match in time with Lance’s and no breathy sounds escape his lips. He groans when his hand swipes over the head of his dick and smears the precum gathered there, hips arching off the bed.

“Fuck this feels good,” Lance mutters, and Keith can’t pretend he doesn’t hear the heat in his voice. Can’t pretend like his words don’t ring true.

Lance kicks off his sheets and it takes a stupid amount of self-control to keep Keith’s eyes focused on the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He does _not_ need to see Lance—his roommate, his best friend, his right hand—jerking off next to him. Hearing it is enough.

_Hearing it is enough._

Eventually Keith’s sheets are kicked off as well, but his boxers stay firmly on, fist picking up in speed under them.

Heat pools and his balls tighten as he hears Lance let out another filthy groan. “God it’s nice to be loud again.”

“That was you being quiet before?”

“Fuck off,” Lance pants.

“Make me.”

Keith squeezes the base of his dick to keep from coming right then and there.

The room is filled with slick sounds and Keith’s head tips back as his hips circle into his hand. His hand is sticky, and he _doesn’t care cause it feels so goddamn good._

“Fuck,” Lance whimpers, and Keith knows he’s close. If he was in his right mind, he’d hate that he’d be able to tell. But he’s not.

Lance comes with a gasp followed by a drawn-out groan. It takes Keith three more pumps of his hand and then he’s coming too, spurting into his boxers and utterly soaking the fabric.

His vision spots and he pants as warmth floods his body, mind numbing from the orgasm.

“This—this doesn’t leave this room,” he pants.

“Understood,” Lance replies, sounding as blissed as Keith feels.

_It doesn’t have to mean anything._

But as the orgasm bliss fades and the mess in his underwear becomes annoyingly cold and wet, Keith dares to look over at Lance.

And finds him staring right back.


	2. or be faithful every day til the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're masturbation mates. Fuck friends with five feet of space. Jerk-off buds. They've got a good thing going here, and Keith is finally starting to sleep. So why does Jambee refuse to leave them alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i'm-- so fucking sorry for the gaps here. i ended up with the coronavirus and that Knocked Me the Fuck Out for all of April and then other parts of life got in the way and literally. it's a mess. but here we are! hope y'all enjoy, and comments and kudos make my day :))

Of all things in life, _this_ is not what Keith anticipated Lance would become a man of habit for.

It took two or three—okay, six—times for Keith to fully catch on, but once he did, he knew their schedule down to the minute.

Their inciting event was always training. Always a day where Keith and Lance had hand-to-hand combat training, where Lance would get that _glow_ in his eye Keith now knew to recognize as horniness. It would be a day where they didn’t expect a mission late in the evening, a day where Keith could count on Lance coming back to their room with his hair dripping down his neck, soaking droplet patterns into his white sleep tee. It would be a day where Keith would begin to feel the coil of… well, something, in his gut the moment Lance flashed that grin at him and mouthed, _later._

It was another day like today.

The lights had gone off—another signal. Lance tried it once with the lights on, and their ensuing fight meant they didn’t speak for three days. But the orgasm that came when they finally recovered—fuck, if Keith didn’t hate the silence, he might instigate fights more often.

They waited until the pattering of footsteps in their hall stopped. No matter what, you could always count on someone being awake at any given point on the Atlas, but it came to a lull during certain hours.

They waited until Keith couldn’t stand memorizing the inside of his eyelids any longer, when his boner ached through his boxers, where if he didn’t start jacking off _right this fucking minute—_

Lance’s hitch of breath, and it starts again.

Keith doesn’t have to wait this time. Pretend like he doesn’t hear what’s going on just a mere six feet away from him, doesn’t have to ignore Lance’s heady moan or work that hard to cover his own.

Stars fucking above, does it feel good.

Their rules—spoken and unspoken—hang heavier in the air than the smell of sex. Keith is grateful for the cover of darkness, hiding the way his cheeks still flame, even though his shame should be long gone by now.

Keith groans as his hand crests over the head of his cock, and Lance echoes his pleasure. He takes a moment to push his boxers down around his thighs, spreading his legs and arching up into his hand.

He’s not felt this good jacking off in quite a while.

It gets slicker as his dick leaks precum and he slathers it around as he pumps up and down, hearing—never seeing—Lance do the same.

“Mmm fuck,” Lance moans, punctuating his words with a sigh. “Shit, this feels good.”

Keith can only give a half-hearted grunt in response.

He bites back a whine as he starts to get closer, letting out a low exhale as heat pools in his gut.

“Getting—getting close—” Lance pants.

“Me too,” Keith manages.

His thighs shudder as his thumb rubs over the slit, absolutely dripping at this point. His hips pump once, twice into his hand and he stills as he cums, eyes closing and breath catching. He can feel cum spurting onto his stomach, hot and thick, and he’s too caught up in the orgasmic bliss to feel disgust yet.

Lance comes with his signature moan; Keith only ever hears _that_ one when Lance has a particularly good orgasm.

Keith uses his cleaner hand to root around in his bed for the tissue box he knows is buried somewhere. He finds it, pulling out two to clean the mess he made. The post-orgasm “ugh” feeling is finally starting to settle. But the bliss still lingers, and he finishes cleaning up by depositing his used tissues over the side of his bed. Lance does the same.

There’s about a ten-minute window now for Keith to fall asleep. His muscles are sore from training, his body is relaxed from cumming, and his mind is quiet—no guilt to be found. This window doesn’t exist for long before the ache becomes painful, before the jerk-off session becomes something to analyze, before the guilt creeps in and he wonders what in all fuck he’s doing.

He’s got ten minutes to fall asleep.

Keith doesn’t even have to pretend to memorize the shapes and panes of his inner eyes before he’s out like a light.

~~~

“Keith!”

He pauses mid-stride at the sound of Shiro’s voice. Hurried footsteps catch up to him and Keith begins walking again as Shiro falls into pace with him.

“Yes, fearless Atlas leader?”

The audible eyeroll without the signature smile makes Keith drop the sarcasm immediately. “We’ve finally tagged and categorized everything you and Lance brought back. Well… we tried to.” Shiro’s steps slow, but Keith grinds to a full and complete halt.

“What do you mean, ‘tried to?’”

Shiro glances over his shoulder, even though they’re alone in this hallway. “We’ve never seen some of these items before. Weapons, shields, I can’t even tell you what general kind of item some of them are. I’d understand if it was newer technology, but… all of our sources and dating materials mark these as ancient. I called in Krolia—”

“My mom’s here?” Keith felt a weird mix of anger and happiness, of shock and pleasantries. “For how long? The entire three weeks it’s taken to catalog this?”   
Shiro grimaces. “Just about.”  
Keith doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed at his mom for not seeing him, mad at Shiro for not telling him, or hurt by both of their actions. That weird mix digs its heels further into his gut.

“So what’s the problem?”

Shiro glances back over his shoulder, and Keith follows his eyeline. Nothing. No one and nothing that could possibly make Shiro this paranoid. He hasn’t been like this since…

“Even Krolia doesn’t know what some of these items are. She’s helped out with a few, but it’s clearly bugging her that she doesn’t understand what you brought back. It’s why she’s been holed up in the hanger this entire time.”

Making excuses, just like always. Keith gets it, to a certain degree; he’s lost himself in training or missions more times than he can count. But that was before he had his mom, before he really had Shiro and the rest of the team. It stings, even after all this time.

“So I’m supposed to go down and take a look at it? I’ve finally reached clearance levels that allow me to go and see what _my own mission_ had me retrieve?” He can’t keep the acid out of his voice, and hates the way Shiro’s eyes shut in response. His one and only tell that Keith’s barb landed.

“If you would, please. You’ll need to suit up. We’re avoiding skin-to-item contact as much as possible. Limiting potential exposure to items we don’t understand.”

“Usual protocol. I know the drill, Shiro. Is that it?” He was peeved before about his mom having been here, but with every passing word, it all burns hotter and hotter until he knows that if he doesn’t leave now, he’ll lash out in a way he’ll regret later.

Shiro considers him for a moment, letting his temper simmer. “You look like you’ve been sleeping better. The bags under your eyes are gone.”

“Thanks,” Keith seethes. “I’ll be down at the hanger if you need me, Leader.”

His boots click on the hard floors as he stalks away, replaying it all in his mind. He didn’t _want_ to snap at Shiro like that—he never does. But certain shit never fails to push his buttons.

It’s not until he’s nearly at the hanger do Shiro’s last words finally ring in his head. Yeah, he’s been sleeping better, but is it really that noticeable of a change?

There’s no way he could know _why_ Keith was sleeping better.

…right?

Pushing _those_ specific anxieties from his mind, he suits up, dressed and sanitized at the door. He recognizes his mom’s slender frame even though her own matching suit, handling one of the long metal tubes he brought back. It doesn’t seem to have an opening—not like a scroll case, as Lance originally suggested—but it doesn’t look to have any other purpose.

“Just like old times, huh?”

His mom barely flinches. “Hello, Keith.” She turns the tube over in her hands. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you sooner,” she murmurs.

“I get it. Duty over all else.”

Finally—this gets her to look up at him. Her eyes are bloodshot (well, the whites are lined with purple from her Galra blood) and her hair is matted within her helmet. “I can’t figure out what this is supposed to be.”

“Probably nothing. That entire planet was off, Krolia, and I wouldn’t be surprised if half the stuff we found has nothing to do with the Galra but everything to do with the culture there.”

“No. Keith, look.” She turns the tube until one end is pointed at Keith, and he sees the faint engraving on the base. Galra. Clearly, undeniably Galra.

A symbol outdated by thousands of years but one he knew from his time spent undercover, reading whatever books he could get his hands on, trying to learn about the other half of him.

“Huh,” is all he can manage.

“I can’t figure it out,” Krolia grunts, tossing the tube back onto the pile that’s clearly been dubbed “miscellaneous.”

“It’s weird shit, mom. You can leave it be. We got it all off, the planet is fine, and there are no more concerns.”

Her eyes flash as she whips toward him, and he takes an involuntary step backwards. “You don’t understand. I’ve never—I _need_ to know what this is. It’s—it’s—” she gestures wildly toward the pile. “This is _something,_ Keith. I don’t know why they called you to take this off their planet, but something is here. This isn’t a random pick up and hide the Galra lineage, and you know it.”

He stares at her. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She waves a flippant hand. “Not important.”

“Or drank? Or slept?”

She ignores his questions, bending down to pick up whatever is underneath the metal tube. Moving away from him, she starts turning her new object over in her hands, jabbing at a nearby keyboard every few moments.

“There’s something here, Keith. I can feel it.”

He stares at her back. He knew something felt _off_ about the items when they brought them in, but never… never did he think it would amount to this level of investigation.

Keith leaves without another word, letting the attendants hose him down without objection. Stripping from the suit that suddenly begins to feel claustrophobic, his brisk walk turns into jog turns into a sprint to where he knows Lance will be.

The door barely opens in time for Keith to come crashing into the flight simulator control room, eight pairs of eyes turning sharp glances toward him. “Lance,” he growls, and the unlucky flight operator points to the bay where Lance pretends to fly.

This door he does get to rip open. It doesn’t have the satisfying slam he so desperately needs right now, but it does have the necessary effect. The flight simulator grinds to a halt, slowing until it gradually ends right side up.

Lance sticks a head out, pulling off his helmet with almost as much force as Keith’s entrance.

“What the fuck man?” His face can’t decide if it wants to be outraged or shocked. “This is my personal flight time. You know better than to—”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“Oh fuck off with the dramatics. What happened? Shiro assigned you to another mission you don’t like? Mommy issues again?” Lance starts to shove his helmet back on, muffling the rest of his words. “Give me the decency of finishing my run.”

“No,” Keith growls, and he can feel every eye in that operating room focused on their argument. “Now.”

Lance pauses, halfway back into the cockpit. Slowly removes his helmet and lovingly places it on the seat. Jumps down without a word, giving Keith a wide berth as if touching shoulders would create a nuclear reaction. “I want that untouched when I return,” Lance says in a low voice, and no one dares to look at him.

They leave, Lance in the lead, and only make it halfway down the hallway before Lance whirls on him. “What? What could be so _goddamn important_ that you interrupt the one simulation I get a week?” Keith is struggling to put the words together, but Lance misreads his silence. “Fuck, Keith, if you were really that horny—what the hell happened to keeping it in the bedroom?”

“This isn’t about that,” Keith snaps.

Lance raises one perfect brow. “Then what is it about?”

Keith chews on his lower lip. “You remember that mission? To Jambee?”

Lance shrugs. “Yeah. Vaguely. I remember it was a disaster and a half but we got it done. What about it?”

“They don’t know what half the shit we brought back is. They tried to catalog and categorize and mark it all down but they can’t. They brought in my mom and she’s been here for three weeks—” Lance’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hairline—“but for the life of her, she doesn’t know. She’s going mad down in that hangar trying to understand what some of those objects are.”

“I’m still missing the point.”

Keith sighs, tugging on a loose strand of hair. “I am too. Shiro looked worried out of his mind when he told me about it. I’ve never seen my mom look that deranged. I thought maybe there was a quintessence leak somewhere among the objects but the madness doesn’t look the same. She’s not Haggar. But she’s not Krolia, either, not with those objects. The mere idea of getting her to leave them in order to sleep made her look like she wanted murder.”

Lance swears low under his breath. “I don’t get it. That entire thing was strange, but far from the strangest thing we’ve seen. There’s nothing about those objects that should cause that. Some mysteries of the world have gone unsolved for literal millennia. Why? Why these ones to cause a breakdown for everyone that spends time with them?”

“We haven’t had breakdowns yet, though,” Keith points out.

Lance shrugs his assent. “I just… I don’t know. Keep an eye on it. That’s all I’ve got for now,” he sighs.

They stand in silence, both lost in the possible implications of that mission.

“Look man, I’m gonna go back now. There’s not anything we can do unless Shiro sends us back. Try and put it out of your mind. Check up on your mom if it makes you feel better.” Lance brushes by him, knocking shoulders this time. Keith hears him pause after only a few steps. “I’ll see you in training, later.”

And then he’s gone. And Keith is left alone to wonder what happened, what chain of events, what dominoes he knocked over to get him here.

~~~

Training isn’t what it usually is today. It’s not hand-to-hand; they’re focused on individualized weapons, both bayard and borrowed. Keith fails miserably at his long range target practice, and he can hear the snide comments roiling around in Lance’s head. He braces himself for them, but they never come.

Lance is just as unfocused as he is.

His aim is perfect (he’s their sharpshooter after all), but his reaction time is slow. Not calculated slow, but the kind that means your distracted state will kill you.

Keith doesn’t comment either.

Battle bot after bot goes down to the mat as Keith slashes through them, taking more hits than he cares for. It’s sloppy and messy but the carnage feels good and he just can’t stop _thinking_ —

What did it mean? Why the obsession, the paranoia, the frantic eyes?

He can’t figure it out and it’s costing him.

Another slash to his upper arm and if he hadn’t taken that exact hit hundreds of times, he would have dropped his weapon from the pain. As it is, he flinches, fingers loosening and allowing his opponent to land another strike, driving Keith to the edge of the ring. He regains his bearings just in time to return—a killing blow—and the bot drops, crumpled on the mat.

His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. Lance lingers at the edge of the ring, pretending that he’s focused on the bot.

Keith doesn’t say a word as he shoves out of the ring and toward the locker room, shifting his bayard back to neutral and tucking his knife away.

Lance doesn’t follow him.

~~~

Their room later is quiet. They’ve followed the pattern—and Lance is a man of habit when it comes to getting off—but neither of them bring it up. Keith has his back to him, curled up and facing the wall.

And Lance—he knows better than to push it.

Keith almost wishes he would; almost wishes he would say something just stupid enough to give Keith a reason to lash out, to fight, to let all of today’s frustrations coming bubbling to the top. Keith almost wishes he were brave enough to tell Lance his worries without the anger coating his words, almost wishes that Lance would comfort him and talk it through. Like real friends. Like they used to, before their arrangement began. Like they used to, before… hell, Keith doesn’t even know what their ‘before’ was, only that it no longer is.

But almost wishes aren’t the same as wishes. Not even close to desires, so far from something Keith has enough longing and lack of self-control to do.

Lance stays quiet, and Keith faces the wall, imagining tracing a finger over the cracks and scuffs and fissures that don’t exist. Not in the cool Atlas metal.

Lance stays quiet, and so does Keith.

~~~

Keith avoids Shiro and Krolia. It’s bad, he knows, but he can’t stand seeing his mom in that state. He’s still mad at Shiro for keeping her presence from him (even if he does understand it now), but it’s not like Shiro’s going out of his way to find Keith, either.

Which means he spends more time in the room with Lance.

Which puts them where they are now.

The lights are barely off when their covers are kicked off. Keith is already stripped—not having bothered to dress after his shower, simply tucking himself under his sheets in preparation. He knows Lance enjoys getting undressed in the moment, and he doesn’t have to strain his ears to hear Lance shuck his underwear and shirt off.

It’s become more frantic, as of late.

Since _that day_ , their activities have slipped into daily functions. Lance isn’t the instigator anymore; they’re in sync, not having to question whether the other wants it as much as they do. Keith aches for these moments, when his cock slips into his hand and Lance’s sharp intake of breath mirrors Keith’s own.

Some nights it’s longer, slowed down to tease out an orgasm that sends sparks floating behind Keith’s eyes.

Other nights—this night—it’s hot and heady, rushed and full of feeling, chasing pleasure until they’re both coming with a moan.

Because Keith can’t keep his noises to himself anymore.

His thumb brushes over the slit of his dick and he whines, and Lance lets out a breathy sort of whimper. His hand pumps up and down, and Keith is caught up in the feeling. He doesn’t even care that Lance is a few feet away from him now, doesn’t even care to think about the fact that they’re doing the same thing at the same time _with each other._

He’s too caught up in the lewdness, too caught up in the fact that it turns him on _so fucking much_ to hear Lance whine and moan like that. Too caught up in his desire to hear more of that sound.

“Tell me,” Keith huffs, “tell me what you’re doing to yourself.” The words are out before he can properly think about them. About the implications and the truth of what he just asked for.

“Come look for yourself,” Lance replies in that same breathy whimper.

His inhibitions are gone. He’s stuck in that orgasmic logic that will do anything to get him off.

That’s what he tells himself later, when those ten minutes pass and he can’t—won’t—sleep. 

He does. He maneuvers himself so he’s sitting up in bed, back braced against the wall, legs hanging off the edge. Lance is in a similar position, looking as blissed out as Keith feels. One hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, the other tracing a nipple with a light touch. Keith hates that his Galra vision makes this image so clear, and hates himself for not hating it at all.

They’ve somehow become locked in a stalemate. They dared to break an unspoken rule and neither boy wants to be the first to say anything, do anything.

Lance breaks first. He always does.

The hand that had been gripped so tightly around the base of his cock slowly loosens, dragging upward in a painfully slow stroke. Keith swallows as he watches, his own dick throbbing in response, hand heavy around the shaft. Lance tips his head back when he reaches the top, rubbing slow circles around the head. Seeing and hearing the moan drop from Lance’s lips is what does it for Keith. His own hand picks back up, stroking just slow enough to keep himself from getting too close. What started out as a rush to the checkered flag is now a battle in patience.

Keith sees the faintest tremor in Lance’s thighs as he jerks himself, and Keith has to grip the base of his dick to keep from letting the pleasure wash over him. He wants to enjoy this. He _needs_ to let this last.

He won’t let himself cross the line again.

Lance’s hand speeds up and against his right mind, so does Keith’s. Lance’s pace is still slower than his, but Keith can tell he’s getting close. The moans and grunts are unbidden from his mouth now, flowing out in a mix of curses and praise.

Heat pools low in his gut and in the back of his mind he knows he’s getting close. It won’t take much more—

Lance comes with _that gasp,_ cum spurting out from between his fingers and dripping down his knuckles. Keith’s own orgasm follows with such a force that it hits his collarbone, warmth sliding down his chest and _still_ pumping out of his dick.

His chest heaves as he recovers, his dick giving one last week squirt as he shifts and hits a sensitive spot.

They’re both quiet as they get their bearings about them. Keith cleans up and drops the tissues unceremoniously to the floor. “If your orgasm was anywhere near as good as mine…” Lance whistles, low and sharp. “Damn. That’s the best one I’ve had in a long time.”

Keith doesn’t have the mind to do anything more than nod.

His body is melting, the bliss spreading through his muscles and taking the day’s cares away. He relaxes back into the mattress, eyes closing, listening to the faint sounds of Lance’s cleanup.

He’s almost asleep.

The navy blue is there and he’s drifting, clinging desperately to it, feeling it shiver and vanish between his unmoving fingers when Lance whispers, “Goodnight, Keith.”

And Keith doesn’t sleep at all.

~~~

Shiro stands at the head of the long table, tablet in his normal hand, mechanical space arm drifting and doing diagrams on the screen they can all see. Keith sits to the right of him, Lance across from Keith. His long legs are propped up and crossed at the ankle as he leans back in his chair, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. His blue eyes roam, but his head cocks at all the right moments, and he presents rather differently than what Keith knows is happening internally.

They’ll review the meeting later, so Keith can figure out what Lance caught and he didn’t, and Keith can explain what all of those things mean.

Hunk sits properly next to Lance, elbows on the table and head balanced on one huge palm. He’s following, but only vaguely.

Pidge, try as she might, _truly_ could not care about this meeting. She’s the only one that looks like she’s paying attention and Keith knows it’s because she’s got a secondary screen running in her glasses, reviewing files and data bits she’s actually interested in.

And still, Shiro speaks.

Stuff about what’s going on in the rest of the Atlas, updates and reports on planets they’re helping to rebuild, ideas on when they’ll finally be leaving their base on earth and starting to travel around the galaxy; you know, fulfilling the promises they built their campaign on.

It would be just as easy to send out all of this information in a file—but Shiro has them come down every morning on the second day of the week, eight a.m. sharp. Routine, Keith figures.

And because no one is going to read that report otherwise.

Keith likes the meetings because of the reminder of what used to be. It’s routine, it’s normal—it feels like the Castleship before everything went to hell.

It’s Voltron for them still. Even if nothing they’re doing anymore is Voltron.

Case in point: the “mission” he and Lance have just been assigned.

“C’mon, Shiro,” Keith groans. “We’re better than this.”

“Oh give it up mullet. Maybe this place will have a real barber and you can finally trim back that hair.”

There’s a moment of tense silence, broken when Hunk mutters, “jeez, if looks could kill…”

“It’s essential and you know it, Keith,” Shiro sighs. “Weren’t you just complaining about being cooped up here?”

It’s a fight to keep his cheeks from flushing. “Fine. Whatever. Forward me the mission details.”

His and Lance’s tablets chime as they receive an incoming transmission, and Keith accepts it with a jab of his middle finger.

Shiro moves on—the matter settled—as Keith scans their briefing.

They’re being sent on a supply run. Of all things. 

There’re lackeys and plenty of new teenage pilots just edging to do some boring shit like this. Keith can’t understand why it’s being relegated to them, for any reason other than convenience and to get back at Keith for the silent treatment he’s been giving Shiro. With a mission, he has to talk to him.

A text comes in on his tablet.

**_Loverboi_** I think we saved the universe a little bit too soon. I’m starting to feel like an aging cop in one of those oldies, 2000s films.

Keith snorts, and quickly covers it with a cough when three glares are sent his way. Lance has the audacity to smirk at him.

**_Keith.kogane:_** so who’s the blonde in the skimpy “cop” uniform, and who’s the aging oldie who just wants one last good catch before he throws in the towel for good?

**_Loverboi_** _:_ you’re the blonde. Duh. You’ve got the boobs—sorry, pecs—for it and the saucy attitude that’ll get you rightly fucked in act two

Keith just stares. Stares and stares and stares at the text until he’s certain he’s hallucinated its existence.

**_Loverboi_** : Broke someone’s brain? My bad ;)

Keith hits the power button with more force than necessary and watches as the messages disappear into blackness. He slips the tablet into his pocket, and focuses fully—and only—on Shiro.

For the entire rest of the meeting.

~~~

Lance jogs up to him as Keith stalks down the hallway leading to their Lion hangar. Their shoulders bump as Lance falls into step with him and it takes all of Keith’s diplomacy and galactic relations training not to immediately shove Lance away and point his bayard at his head. Still, he didn’t have all that much, so the best he manages his frosty.

“Wow, shopping. Whatcha think we’ll find there? Probably totally different than the space mall, or any of the other open air markets we’ve been to. You know, based on the reading I’ve done from the briefing we got sent.” Lance is babbling. Nervous.

“What, Lance?”

“Huh?”

“You clearly don’t give that much of a shit about what kind of a shopping center we’re going to, and you babble when you’re avoiding saying something else, so just spit it out so we can move on and not fuck up the mission.”

Lance stops dead in his tracks. Scoffs. Opens his mouth, scrunches his brow, and then closes it once more.

“Well you’re straight to the point today.”

Keith has half a mind to make a certain kind of joke, but he’s not in the mood to derail the conversation.

Lance scoffs a second time and resumes walking, forcing Keith to start walking with him. “One, I can and am totally excited about the market. Two, are we cool man? Cause I was totally fucking around earlier and you reacted kinda… well.” Lance exaggerates Keith shoving the tablet into his pocket. “Like that.”

He shrugs. “Caught me off guard, that’s all. Nothing to it.”

Lance side-eyes him but doesn’t say anything more as they enter their Lion hangar. Lance is flying this time, and Keith gazes at him, unable to tear his focus away from where the other boy’s face lights up as Blue awakens. His eyes shine and Keith is suddenly thrust back into their childhood; that same face, when Lance learned he’d become a fighter pilot. Keith only glimpsed it briefly the day he was escorted out, but it’s hard not to see it now, mirrored on a battle worn and scarred pilot’s face. Joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.

And now he understands the flying simulators.

It hits him in a rush, watching Lance stand on Blue’s toes, his hand gently on her leg. Red watches from nearby—knowing she’ll be flown today—but Keith doesn’t feel any jealousy emanating down the remnants of the bond he once shared with the Lion. They all feel Allura’s absence; their formation is incomplete once more.

But none feel it as deeply as Lance, who can only stand to fly in Red. Blue aches and Keith doesn’t need a bond with the lion to see it. The scratches deep in her side and unrepaired gashes to her maw tell Keith enough of what happened the last time Lance and Blue flew together.

Keith clears his throat, hating that he has to interrupt the moment, and jerks his head toward Red. Lance nods, and murmurs something to Blue. The Lion’s eyes glow brighter for a moment, and then dim into sleep once more.

He clambers off, and makes his way over to where Keith stands at the foot of Red. “Ready?”

Lance nods and takes the lead.

They don’t speak as they depart. The handlers of the hangar guide them out, and Red launches with a roar. One handler falls flat on their ass—and Keith bites back a snicker.

“Must be a newbie,” he says, but the joke falls flat when Lance barely huffs.

Red is the smallest of their lions, but for some reason, has two cockpit chairs. Like she knew she was born to be flown by two, and that one day, they’d end up here together. Keith isn’t relegated to the back like Lance is in Black. They sit side by side, gazing out at the black nothing they each find to be home.

“That’s why you do the simulators,” Keith says. He means it to be a question, but looking at Lance from the corner of his eye turns it into a statement.

“We’ve got so many new people, I only get one day a week. I get it. Gotta train everyone and get people to pass their tests. I’m an experienced pilot. One of the _most_ experienced pilots we have. I don’t need to be in the simulators.”

“But you won’t fly the lions.”

A dry laugh. “Why waste the energy? It’s essential for missions like this, apparently.”

Keith can tell he’s pushing it, but still, “It’s okay to still be grieving. To not be able to do what you used to be able to do because it reminds you of her. I get it. I’ve been there.”

“Have you?” Lance snaps, and Keith has definitely gone too far. “Gee, I can’t seem to recall the last time one of your boyfriends turned into a Watcher of the Galaxy or whatever the fuck in order to save the universe. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have _grieved_ ,” he spits the word, “together. Made a whole therapy group out of it.”

Anger, hot and heavy, roars at him to fight back. To hurt Lance just like Lance is starting to hurt him. Pick this battle and clash until he wins.

Old Keith would. He’d seethe and hiss and yell and close down and they’d fuck up their mission because neither of them knew how to communicate.

But New Keith—the one that’s seen Lance break down in the quiet of their room, the one that’s been privy to the tears and the silent shaking sobs, the one that knows Lance is coming from a place of hurt—backs down.

“I’m sorry,” he says plainly. “I pushed it.”

And just like that, Lance withers. Retreats into himself. Loses all the fight and anger that dripped out of his perfect pores.

“Just fucking hurts,” Lance mumbles, settling back into his seat and locking his eyes on the expanse in front of him. “Just fucking hurts so much.”

“Yeah,” is all Keith can say. “Yeah, it does.”

That’s the last either of them speaks before they reach their mission destination.

~~~

The first thing Keith notices when they land is the dust. It takes him a moment to place what it reminds him of, and when he does, he frowns. It’s the wrong color, and the overall quality isn’t the same—but it’s eerily similar to Jambee.

Only this time, it’s full of life.

They’ve landed a ways back; Red sinks into the sad until just her ears are visible, and Keith pats her nose once before they set out. Two hills to crest before the reach the market—but even here, even through his suit and the distance, the noise is overwhelming. He’s not heard this much _sound_ in such a long time.

“Why do we keep going to places that make me think of Star Wars?” Lance mutters.

“What’s that?”

Lance shoots him an absolutely devastated look. “We’re getting you properly cultured the moment we get back to the Atlas.”

Keith bristles. “I am properly cultured, thank you very much.”

Lance merely shakes his head.

They walk, and Keith is stupidly grateful for the working temperature regulator inside of his suit. He can feel the sun on his cheeks through the glass; he can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if they didn’t have Pidge upgrade their paladin armor with climate control.

_Keith Kebab_. That’s what he’d be.

He snorts a little laugh to himself, and Lance is giving him another look that fully implies questioning later. Keith will brush it off as sun stroke, but his personal joke keeps making him chuckle.

Two hills later and they’re descending into the town center. Keith retracts his helmet, pulling a dark cloak over himself to blend in with the locals. His hair is in a low pony at the base of his skull, and he can feel more than one set of eyes boring into him.

“The fuck is all this attention for?” he mutters to Lance, drawing the other boy down a nearby avenue.

“Hell if I know, but I don’t like it. Normally I play the pretty boy.” The pout on Lance’s face actually looks genuine.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Do you have a copy of the list?”

Lance pulls out his holopad. “Right here, baby.”

Keith pulls out his own, and, comparing it to the map of the market, they divide it so they each cover half of the center. Pocketing the device, Keith scans the nearby crowd. There are still a few glances their way, but they’re ambiguous for the most part.

“Sundown, by Red. If you’re not back by then—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Lance mutters. “Just don’t fly off without me.”

Keith doesn’t respond before leaving Lance to his own devices in the market. They’ve been assigned to pick up of a few orders, but most of it is purchase as they go. They’re too far too source their food imports from here, but Keith sees a few luxuries on their list.

_I wonder who the hell we’re impressing with these._

The thought doesn’t linger as Keith slowly but steadily checks items off his half of the list. There’s a brief, intense longing to hire a carriage to cart everything he’s gathered thus far to Red, but the rational part of his brain knows he really can’t. As convenient as it would be. As much as it would stimulate the local economy. As lovely as it would be to watch someone else trek over two hills and back again, toting all of his purchases.

But he can’t.

Unfortunately.

But that doesn’t mean some part of him isn’t _this_ close to just, you know, _borrowing without asking_ one of those nifty carts.

Paladin of Voltron his ass. Pack mule and errand boy these days.

He’s grumbling when he returns to the market. He’s hot, there’s a bead of sweat running straight down his spine, and he’s more than annoyed at the whole situation. His paladin armor is clunky and the black cloth flung over him is doing absolutely nothing currently, save for making him an even larger heat beacon.

God, how he’d kill for a drink right now.

Just as the thought enters his mind, a neon sign lights up, advertising the local bar has opened for the day. People of all shapes and forms are already ducking in, and Keith has half a mind to join them.

Until he sees Lance.

Leaning against a wall, laughing, eyes closed and head tipped back.

_The hell is he doing in my section?_

Keith is about to call out to him when his brain registers the rest of the scene; his mouth snaps shut. A girl—Keith assumes, based on the curves and piled hair—leans against the same wall in front of Lance. He’s gazing down at her now, and she’s the one laughing this time. Keith is too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he knows that look. Knows the posture and the half grin and knows Lance is about to get lucky; it’s only a matter of where.

Scoffing before he can remember himself, Keith watches the pair for a moment longer. Lance doesn’t look up from his prey, ever, and thus never sees Keith flip him off.

He might be a child sometimes, but there’s a reason he leads. He knows which head to think with.

Keith dips down another market alley, resuming his shopping trip, and places Lance and the girl firmly out of his mind.

~~~  
“I give him _one_ simple instruction…”

His feet are propped up on Red’s dash, watching the sky turn brown and pink from the sunset. Sand obscures some of the view, but it’s still one of the nicer—disregarding the color scheme—sunsets Keith has seen.

“Be back by sundown,” he says. “‘ _Oh yeah, sure, I’m a responsible person who can do basic tasks that are asked of me,’_ ” he mocks. “What do you wanna bet he’s currently balls deep in some random girl that _isn’t_ the one we saw him with earlier today?”

Red doesn’t dignify him with a response. She hums low in his mind, and Keith can’t remember if that’s assent or passive disagreement.

His transponder hums to life and Keith accepts, only to have the cockpit fill with static and the faint sounds of music.

“Fuck me, he’s at a club,” he mutters, about to hit end. Lance can drag his own sorry ass back to Red. Keith isn’t responsible for him this time. But before his finger reaches the button, “K-k-kei-keith, hel-hel-help,” crackles through.

Keith freezes. Cool air swirls around his feet as Red reacts to the message. “Lance?” he calls. “Lance, can you hear me?”

“K-k-keith,” barely distinguishable through the static and pounding music. “Co—come---quick.”

And then it cuts off.

A.C. flares as Red shifts in the sand, rocking Keith where he sits utterly frozen.

It could be nothing. It could be Lance, fucking around, drunk off his ass. It’s probably nothing; it’s happened before where Keith has rushed in to save him only to find Lance didn’t need saving at all. Everything is probably fine.

But there’s the feeling, curling in his ribcage making him doubt just how _probably_ fine Lance is. Static, replaying over and over, cut through with a voice that was Lance’s—normal Lance’s. Not drunk. Not high. Not pranking Keith.

Probably fine is just enough to make him click the recall button, waiting and waiting and waiting for it to go through.

**TRANSMISSION FAILED.**

flashes across his screen.

And that—

That’s enough to pop Keith out of his seat, feet thundering down the metal steps of the cockpit and into the general bay. The _failed_ flashes in his mind as he drags on his helmet, clicks armor pieces into place.

Because that—

That—

Lance can be drunk, or high, or off his ass and getting his dick wet in eight different ways and he _never_ fails to pick up a transmission. Even when it means things are heard that cannot be unheard, Lance always picks up. They all do.

No matter what.

So Keith _runs._

Sand kicks up and knocks at his visor, threatening to slow him down. He slips, crashing hard on his knees, but he’s back up and sprinting through the unforgiving sand.

He makes a silent vow to _never_ come back to a sandy planet.

Neon lights flash at him as he skids into the market, scattering late evening shoppers and bar crawlers. He doesn’t care that he’s causing a scene when he bursts into the dimly lit restaurant, pushing through patrons and weaving through sweaty bodies that leave wet marks on his glossy armor. He doesn’t even think to check with the bouncer at the front if they’ve seen Lance, if he’s here, _where is he—_

Hands push at him from all directions as Keith’s vision narrows, Galra instincts taking over. He’s got a priority and until that priority is found, nothing else matters.

He doesn’t go home without Lance.

And there, a flash of blue and tan and the right build is that him is that Lance let it be Lance—

The crowd parts, and there Lance is. Slumped over the lap of the girl from earlier. Piles of hair still sit atop her head but strands spill out here and there, framing her face. All Keith can see is tan skin and a pursed mouth, murmuring something too low for him to hear.

He might not be leaving without Lance, but a dead Lance is still Lance.

“Move,” he growls.

Everyone shoves aside in a haste to let him pass. He stalks up to the loving couple, where Lance is face down in her lap and she is straining under him. “How much did he drink?”

She shrugs. Puts her fingers to her mouth and then draws two away, the other two tucked into her palm; _I don’t speak that language._

_Great. That’s exactly what I need._

He fumbles with his translator and by the time he finds the toggle, she’s maneuvered herself out from under Lance and disappeared into the swarm of bodies.

“Hey!” Keith calls out. He takes two steps toward where he thinks she disappeared, but there’s no sign of her. _Fuck me._

He uses his foot to turn Lance over, and in the process, almost spills him off the bench. His right arm slumps off his torso and lands with a heavy thump on the floor, and Keith frowns.

Nudging him again, he says, “Lance?” Borderline kicking him now, “Answer me, shithead. You can’t stress me out like that.”

And still, Lance doesn’t move.

That same curling fear behind his ribcage is there again. Keith leans down, gently tracing a gloved hand down the planes of Lance’s face. He’s warm, and breathing. Both good signs. But when Keith pulls back his eyelid to check his pupil, it’s blown wide. There’s no hint of consciousness in him as Keith properly shakes him now, getting under Lance and sitting him up.

“C’mon, Lance, what the fuck did you take?”

No response.

Keith doesn’t wait any longer before pulling out the emergency medical pen that Pidge gifted each of them. Similar to an epi—but designed to react based on whatever poisons encountered. Keith’s only used it once before, and it was a hell of a trip waking up.

Stripping Lance’s thigh of armor, he jabs the pen in without hesitation, listening to Pidge’s robotic voice count to ten before pulling it back out again.

“Lance,” Keith says. “I need you to wake up now.”

His eyes still don’t open. Don’t even flutter. There’s no sign of movement for another forty-eight seconds—and Keith counts with every breath—before Lance finally begins to twitch. His entire body seizes before his eyes snap open and he vomits all over the bench he’s sitting on. Keith can’t see anything discolored about it, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“What happened?” He can’t keep the growl out of his voice. Can’t keep the fear at bay any longer.

Lance’s blue eyes wander before they finally land on Keith, focusing. “She… she took it,” he mumbles.

“She took what?”

“The… data.” Lance rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “She took the data card I picked up. Hit me in the back of my neck with something. I don’t… I don’t… fuck,” he groans.

“Lance.” Keith’s entire body has gone cold. “What exactly did she take?”

“She took the data chip Shiro ordered, from a deal or something. I don’t know what was on it, but it had the proper numbers and letters engraved on it for Jambee.”

“We need to get out of here.” He hauls Lance up by the arm, who immediately begins to sway on his feet. “What did she stick you with?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be in this position,” Lance snaps. He’s getting better with each passing minute, but there’s still something off about him.

They make it out into the market, and Lance is able to stand on his own by the time they’re fully separated from the merchant stalls.

He swipes a hand through his hair, immediately all business. “The last thing I remember was seeing her, right after I made the purchase. She was chatting me up, you know, how girls do. The allure of bedding a Paladin of Voltron and all that shit.” He rolls his eyes. “And I’m trying to let her down evenly, keep up my reputation and shit, but she’s relentless. Flirting, touching, offering me just one drink.” His eyes close. “So I say yes.”

Keith sighs, and the look Lance gives him is withering.

“It was hot, and I ordered water. Or, whatever the most basic thing here is. I got water, and I was _saying goodbye_ , and—” Lance throws his hands up. “That’s the last thing I remember. I got fucking roofied, Keith. I didn’t pull this bullshit on purpose. Everything else Shiro had us buy is stored in a locker, and I’ve still got that key.” Lance fishes out a key from an inner pocket and holds it on his palm before closing his fingers around it once more. “But I kept that data card on me. It’s not a fucking coincidence that we _just_ had a mission at Jambee, and then Shiro sends us on what? A shopping trip? Only for us to pick up a data card with the planet’s letters and numbers on it.”

“So now we have to capture her, get the data card back, and come home like, ‘oh yeah, here’s the fruits you wanted and also a hostage, hope this doesn’t cause an intergalactic incident.’”

“She assaulted a Paladin of Voltron. We have every right to apprehend her.”

Keith sighs, dragging a hand over his face as his mind reels over the implications of this. What they’re going to have to do to track her down and bring her in. What might possibly be on the data card that’s worth drugging and assaulting Lance over.

“Alright. Get in Red, and I’ll start tracking her. She can’t have gone far.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll totally sit this one out.”

“I had to stab you with Pidge’s pen. That’s only ever been used _once_ before. I don’t know how long you’ll keep functioning before you collapse again and you need real medical attention.”

“Then let’s get going. Sooner we get her, sooner we leave, sooner I get medical attention, _leader_.” Lance’s eyes flash and Keith knows it’s not about completing the mission anymore.

“Suit up. Find a rooftop and do surveillance from there. I’m tracking her on foot. I don’t care if you have to shoot her to take her down.”

And then he’s gone, slipping on sand as he stalks back down the hill. His fingers flit over the various weapons locked at his sides; knife on his left hip, bayard on his right. Bombs and grenades strapped into inside pockets on his legs. Ropes and nets ready to fly at the press of a button.

She’s not leaving.

And Keith, really, _really_ doesn’t care if they bring her in dead.

He moves in the darkness, quiet as a shadow, deadly as can be. His helmet was left behind, along with most of his armor; his undersuit slinks with him as he tracks the girl.

She could be anywhere. In the time it took to revive Lance, drag him halfway back to Red…

Keith swears under his breath as his brain easily provides all of the quick getaways she could have made. There’s plenty of ways off this planet, and you don’t need to be a genius to find them.

They’re relying on time, and they’re already behind.

His earpiece crackles to life as Lance settles into his position.

_“Center building, rooftop. I’m positioned facing the port. No movement.”_

Keith doesn’t respond. Lance knows better than to expect something that could compromise his position. His location is shared with Lance, Keith a blinking red dot on the scope of his rifle.

“ _Still no sign of her.”_

He moves through the alleys, head on a constant swivel, listening for the telltale pattern of her feet, the swish of her hair as she moves. There wasn’t much he got from their brief encounter, but it should be enough.

It should be.

It needs to be.

“ _Fuck,”_ Lance groans, and Keith can hear him drag a hand over his face. “ _I can’t believe this shit.”_

“Just let me know when you’ve got eyes on her,” Keith murmurs, slipping out of an alley and into a mingling crowd. There’s less chance of finding her here, but movement is easier, faster. Less suspicion attached to his body.

People pass by his body like river around a rock, and Keith listens. Strains his ears for anything—any hint of where the girl could be.

And finally—a whisper. Barely a murmur.

“Passage is ten crowns.”

“I’ll give you five.” That same silky tone he heard earlier, outside in the dying sunlight. Only this time there’s a clear voice attached to it.

_Doesn’t speak the language, my ass._

Keith is moving before he even has a clear sense of direction, murmuring to Lance he’s got her. Lance provides directions in his ear, using Keith’s location to track her, as Keith moves forward.

“Ten. Take it or leave it.”

The girl huffs, and Keith sees a strand of hair swing down from the pile atop her head. “I’ve got eight. No more than that.”

“Eight’s not enough to buy you passage out that far, lassie,” the smuggle grins. “Can’t pay for silence on promises.”

“Last chance,” she snaps. “Eight crowns. Take me where I need to go.”

He laughs at her and Keith is finally close enough to see her face fully—mirth and outrage etched into what could have been pretty features. “You’re in no position to bargain, little girl. I told you the price, and it’s ten crowns.”

She steps closer, and Keith doesn’t catch whatever it is that makes the man’s face drain of color.

He takes a step back from her as Keith hesitates in the shadows.

_“I can’t hear what’s going on. Keith, just apprehend her already. You’ve got enough cause.”_

The girl steps forward, and the smuggler grimaces. His mouth disappears under a green beard before he finally relents, beckoning with a grayed hand. They dip into the shadows, and not two seconds later, Keith hears an engine fire, sputter, and take off.

“Fuck!”

“ _God you dumbass. You had her!”_

“I know!” he shouts, angry enough to forget where he is as he shouts back at Lance. Heads swivel in his direction, and Keith glowers back. “Just give me directions,” he snaps, breaking into a run.

The crowd parts for him now, frenzied shouts creating a wake behind him. Darkness has fully fallen and Keith melds with the shadows, sprinting after the rapidly departing skiff.

Lance snaps right and left turns in his ears, guides him down alleys that look like dead ends only to snap abruptly in one direction at the end, weaves him like a rat through a maze.

“Let me know if you ever get a clear shot on her!” Keith shouts, his cover long forgotten.

“ _They’re moving too quickly. I’m likely to break the skiff and let her get away on foot.”_

“Just shoot the fucking skiff!”

“ _Fuck no. Remember what happened on Jambee? That man disappeared—left, now—into thin air. We’re not playing with that again. Either a clean shot or you’re pinning her down.”_

“I can’t catch that ride on my own, Lance,” Keith pants. Hours upon hours were spent building and perfecting hand to hand combat. Endurance? Preparing for a chase through a desert planet where the sand slipped under his feet and slowed him down? Shockingly, no simulation prepared him for that.

Lance swears, fast and dirty. “ _They’re nearly to the port.”_

“Lance, I need help here—”

“ _I’m working on it,_ ” Lance snarls. Keith shuts up as he runs, legs burning. He can hear Lance’s steady breath in his ear, the ever so faint counting to steady him. Lance isn’t giving him directions anymore but that’s alright; Keith can see the port on his own now.

Ships, big and small, docked on various platforms. They’re all raised above the sand to keep from eroding the hulls and landing gear, and Keith has no goddamn clue how he’s going to get up there. Not in time to apprehend her.

“ _You’ve got three seconds before she hits the deck, Keith._ ”

Keith runs for his life. He’s lost the ship but it’s not long before he spies it again—it’s lit up in brilliant blue as it explodes.

Lance hit the gas tank and the entire skiff bursts into flames. Keith can feel the heat even though it takes him another thirty seconds to reach the wreckage.

The smuggler is face down in the sand and Keith hesitates, but Lance makes his decision for him, “ _Keep going._ ”

And so he does.

Locks flap in the wind like a banner as she runs, just as hard and fast as Keith. But he’s got training, anger, and agility over her. Her feet find easy holds in the sand and she darts like a viper.

“Can’t you just fucking shoot her now!” Keith shouts.

“ _Out of range!_ ” Lance fires back.

Keith growls and with a move Shiro would admonish him for, he spins his knife from its holster and throws it at her. It lands with a solid thunk in her shoulder, and the unexpected pain is enough to throw her. She stumbles and falls to the sand with a wail. Keith is on her in seconds.

He wastes no time wrenching the knife from her shoulder and pinning her arms behind her back, tucked under his knee. She cries out, thrashing, but his hold doesn’t budge.

“I’ve got her.”

“Get off me, you fucking asshole!” she screams.

“You not only drugged and almost killed a Paladin of Voltron, but you’re a thief and a traitor to the galactic peace efforts. We have every right to bring you in.”

She twists, trying to spit at him, but Keith continues to kneel calmly on her back, securing her arms and legs. Tugging at the ropes, he relents the pressure on her only when he’s satisfied that she isn’t going anywhere this time.

“ _I’ve got Red flying to me now. We’ll be on you in three. Sit tight._ ”

And their connection drops.

Keith doesn’t say anything as he waits for Lance and Red, staring down at his captive. She, however, has decided this is her own personal soapbox and she’s going to use it.

“You’d think you of all people would understand.” She pauses, her eyes searching for Keith’s impassive face in the darkness. When she receives no response, she scoffs. “You’ve got the audacity to call me a traitor when you’re the real one. You know nothing. _Nothing_. How dare you turn your back on your people? Your history? There’s a reason for everything, Keith. Just you fucking wait.”

Her soliloquy is interrupted as Red touches down and Lance jumps out of her maw before she’s even fully settled.

He doesn’t say a word as he hauls the girl up by her bonds, fishes the drive from her jacket pocket without blinking an eye, and shoves her roughly towards Red.

“Easy there. Remember the Allura Accords.”

Lance stops, and spins on Keith, forcing the girl to spin with him. His eyes flash as he says, “She drugged me, Keith. Drugged me, left me as good as dead, and _used me_.” Keith can’t tell who he spits the words at. “I have every right to treat her as she did me. I’m being generous, currently, by bringing her in like this. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to secure her in Red so we don’t have any other mishaps.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he spins around, dragging his captive with him. She gapes, apparently just as shocked as Keith at Lance’s words. He stands there, heels sinking into the sand, and shivers in the darkness as each sentence fully sinks in. He’s had hot-head Lance, spinning off the rails Lance, even self-described Cuban fury Lance. He’s never seen pure, cold anger from him before.

Keith scans the area and sees the fire on the skiff has been put out, and the smuggler is nowhere to be found. Doesn’t matter. Wasn’t their target, and smugglers generally aren’t harmful.

He leaves it be as he makes his way over to Red, patting her paw once before climbing in. The door shuts with a harsh snap behind him, and he sighs at the air—pure, filtered air—on his skin.

Lance is waiting for him in the cockpit when Keith strides in, seated and staring straight ahead. 

“She’s locked in a cryo chamber,” he says before Keith can voice a question.

He nods. Safest way to transport her. Sitting, he sighs as his legs protest and then relax into the chair, easing into the cushioned padding. Lance is flying, so all Keith has to do is fasten his safety belt before the other boy guides Red into takeoff procedures. Red does the rest and Lance soon mimics Keith.

Stars envelop them and Keith finally breathes for what feels like the first time since they launched from the Atlas.

“Why is that every mission we’ve taken lately has been a complete fucking disaster?” Lance sighs.

Keith shrugs. “I think it’s us. Safe missions just feel innately wrong to us, so we fuck them up to get a thrill.”

Lance laughs, but there’s no humor to it.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes before Lance speaks again. “It just… it messes with me. To know that’s all I’m ever seen as.” Keith isn’t following in the slightest, but Lance speaks as if he forgets anyone else exists. “The pretty one. The lover boy. The easy target to flirt and take down. I’m a weak link, a seventh wheel, a crack shot and nothing more. Girls and guys and everything in between and all who aren’t anything only see me as a plaything. A body. Easy on the eyes, easy in the head.” He laughs that same dry laugh again. “That’s all there is to it. I’m deceivable. I’m a mess and a flirt and _so what_ if I enjoy sex? So what if I like the way I look and enjoy taking care of myself? That makes me vain? A flirt? Less than everyone else on this team?”

“Lance…”

He’s far from done. “I’m just sick of it. Being seen that way. And I know exactly what you thought of me when you found me in that bar.” The venom in his voice sends shame shooting through Keith. “You saw me—I know you did because I saw you—and you assumed. Just like everyone else. That I’m easy. That I’ll mess up a mission just to get my dick wet. Just to have attention, some love for an hour, a breath from someone else’s lung. And no matter what I do, that won’t change.” The last part is so quiet Keith barely hears it. “It doesn’t matter that I look in the mirror and wonder what people see. It doesn’t matter that I can’t stand casual sex but intimacy feels so unattainable that I’ll take what I’m offered. It doesn’t matter that I need _more,_ so much _more_ than what a random hookup or flirt or—” his voice breaks, swallows words when he suddenly seems to remember that Keith is there. “It doesn’t matter that I can’t stand myself, because everyone else adores me. The vain, pretty, party boy.”

Lance looks up toward the ceiling, where those same tacky glow stars have been stuck. “Lover boy Lance. Send your assassins after him, but make sure they know he’s dumb as a rock.”

Keith sits in stunned silence, staring at Lance’s impassive face. No, not impassive. His eyes find the cracks where Lance’s jaw trembles. The fissures in the lines around his eyes, the foundation of a dam breaking. The shake of his hand as he runs a hand roughly through his hair, brown strands snagging.

“You are a damn idiot,” Keith says, and Lance’s jaw tightens, “if you really believe any of that.”

“It’s true,” Lance deadpans.

Keith only shakes his head, unable to express just how _wrong_ Lance is. “You’re—no. That’s not—fuck, Lance.”

Lance turns toward him, and there’s no malice in his eyes. No anger. Just sadness. “Deny it then. Tell me you didn’t think I was hooking up with her when you found me in the bar.”

Keith can’t, and Lance knows it as he watches Keith flounder for words. Lance huffs and turns back to gaze through the glass. “It’s just with your history…” It’s a weak defense and they both know it.

“Yeah. I’m well aware of my history. I’m the one who wrote it.”

Keith sighs, frustrated. He’s not good enough with words to tell Lance he doesn’t see him that way, doesn’t think he’s easy or simple or what the Voltron Show made him out to be. That Lance is the reason they made it out tonight—and hell, every other time—and Keith is so fucking grateful for him. That Voltron wouldn’t be Voltron without Lance.

The thoughts are there but it isn’t enough. He can’t press those images into Lance’s mind, show him how he views Lance as good enough, more than enough, so much of everything.

“I don’t think you’re easy,” is what he manages to stutter out. “You’re good looking and you know it and people don’t like it.” Lance frowns, and Keith knows he’s still failing. “You’re—fuck, Lance, I don’t know how to do this. You’re not just a flirt. You’re the reason we get out of these situations. You saved us on Jambee. You’ve saved more than just me countless other times. You’re not just that thing.”

“But you still see me as the lover boy.” Lance’s voice has lost its flat affect. It’s tinged with sadness now, and it kills Keith to know he’s contributed this time. “You still assumed when you saw me with her. You never thought that she could have been hurting me. You took my history and what you see me as—based on what we are to each other—and you assumed. It hurts more, Keith, because it was you. Because you of all people should know that I’m not in to casual. I don’t like flings. I can’t fucking stand being used like that even though I let myself be.”

“I did assume,” Keith says quietly. “And I’m sorry. The way the situation presented itself… it looked like other times. Was I really that wrong to think it was happening again? Especially on what should have been a harmless mission? I’ve seen you flirt during a royal protection and slip off with a princess before.”

“You’re saying you haven’t noticed a change in me at all?” Lance cries, and finally faces Keith. The hurt is etched so deeply into the planes of his face Keith isn’t sure even death would remove the pain.

“What are you talking about?” Keith asks, that same flare of shame and hurt burying deep. How much has he missed?  
And that—that one question, an admission Keith didn’t intend—shuts Lance entirely down. His face closes off and his mouth snaps shut. His eyes lose their passion, their fight, their anything.

Keith can’t read Lance at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lance says, the finality in his tone so clear that Keith doesn’t dare push it. He shoves up from his seat. “I’m going to check on the captive.”

The door to the cockpit shuts before Keith can utter a single word.

And in the silence Lance leaves behind, Keith wonders why shame and jealousy feel so alike.

~~~

They’re both exhausted when they return to their room. Lights out happened hours ago; only the dim hall lights guide their path, spilling into their room momentarily before the door hisses shut and seals them in darkness.

Soft thuds against the wall as his boots are kicked off. Clothes, sliding over skin as he strips down to just his boxers. A wheezing mattress as he flops onto his stomach, spine realigning in a way that’s both pleasure and pain.

He hears Lance following suit, and soon it could be any night between them. A nothing and a something.

His legs still ache from the unexpected run and he makes a mental note to add endurance training. It’ll be gone by the morning if he sleeps at all, but Keith would easily trade sleep for a nagging thought.

But sleep isn’t anywhere to be found. The deep blue evades him, the peace that comes with quiet doesn’t fill his head. He’s still sitting in that pilot’s chair, listening to Lance, and hating himself for not having the words to say what he means.

“Lance,” he grunts into his pillow. “You still ‘wake?”

Lance grunts in response.

“Do you…?” The question hangs between them, not needing an ending.

There’s a long silence, in which Keith is certain Lance is asleep. But now that his dick has been presented with the idea, he’s half hard against the sheets, hips pressing into the mattress that only aids in getting him harder.

“Yeah,” Lance answers after what feels like an eternity.

Keith grinds his hips into his mattress, face pressed into his pillow. His dick gets half as much friction as he would like, but it’s enough to get him started, left hip cocked and hands wrapped around the edge of his mattress.

He can hear Lance starting himself off too, slick sounds of a leaking cock and a quick hand.

Keith ignores it for as long as he can, but eventually as he gets absolutely nowhere with himself, he has to address it.

“It feels weird tonight.”

“Really? This is the first time it’s felt weird to you?”

Keith scowls in the general direction of Lance. “No. I mean like, it doesn’t feel like it normally does. It’s off today.”

“Doesn’t feel off to me.”

“Really? Because I know I don’t always get the social cues, but this time I’m positive there’s tension here.”

“Nope, no tension here,” Lance snaps.

_No tension here,_ Keith mocks in his mind, hand stalling around his dick. “What’s up? Should we just stop for the night? If you’re not feeling it that’s totally fine, man.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want blue balls.”

“Lance, you can always say no.”

Lance whips up in bed so quickly Keith nearly flinches. “Oh? Can I? Never realized I was able to.”

“Lance…”

“Don’t,” Lance warns. “I know what I want. I know I can say no, and I know what works for me. Why are you pushing this so much?”  
Words fail, once again.

“Sit up,” Lance commands suddenly.

Keith does, crackling for a fight.

They’re eye to eye, six feet apart, and Keith knows the tension is new. Different. “You just love getting off to the sight of me, don’t you,” Lance says, and Keith’s head tips back as his cock throbs even as his mind whirls.

“Maybe,” is the only allowance he’ll give, too busy trying to catch up to this new dynamic.

“You want this,” Lance says. It’s not a question.

Keith doesn’t give an answer. It’s taking all his concentration not to get lost in what Lance is proposing. Not to lose his mind in the words.

His cock aches to be touched but he’s not giving in, not yet. Not when this dynamic is new and different and cumming too soon could ruin it all.

Lance gives his dick a leisurely stroke, circling the head with his thumb as he gazes steadily at Keith.

Keith stares back. His right hand finally wraps around the base of his dick. One short tug before he has to pull back again.

“Keith,” Lance says, and Keith hates the flush that crawls across his skin.

“Lance.”

“Fuck, hearing my name out of your mouth…” Lance whistles. “The things it does to me.”

“Plenty of more things I could do to you.” Keith has no goddamn clue where that statement comes from but the way Lance’s eyes light up refuses to let him second guess himself.

“Oh yeah?”

Keith hums in response, thighs beginning to tremble.

“Then come here.”

It stops them both short.

That invisible, unspoken line in the room neither dares to breach. An invitation extended on the end of a musket that could blow up everything between them.

“Lance?”

“Come here, Keith,” he says, voice dropping as his legs spread on the bed. “I want to touch you.”

And Keith pulls the trigger.

He’s out of the bed and crossing the distance and straddling Lance before he even has time to realize what he’s just done. He won’t realize it until much later, playing this exact moment over and over in his head. Wondering how it happened and knowing it was entirely his choice.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Lance is mumbling as Keith crowds his space. “We’re still where we are. Doesn’t mean anything here.”

Keith doesn’t know if the reassurances are for him or for Lance.

But he suddenly doesn’t care when Lance wraps a hand around Keith’s dick, wrist at the perfect angle. Keith knows Lance has been watching him do it because he’s touching Keith just like Keith wants, _needs_ , to be touched, and he’s moments away from cumming and stopping this before it even began.

Lance pulls him down closer, and panic rears in his chest before being settled when Keith realizes Lance isn’t going for his mouth. A hand wraps around both of their cocks and Keith _moans_ as Lance strokes just right. Smearing precum around both of their dicks, Lance jerks them off in tandem, cocks sliding and rubbing against each other and Keith thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever felt.

Heat pools and Keith knows he’s close and for the first time he can _feel_ how close Lance is. Keith thrusts against him, moaning at the feeling of their dicks pressed together, and it only takes two more pumps of his hips before he’s cumming all over Lance’s stomach.

Lance follows not long after with that signature moan and Keith whimpers as an aftershock rolls through him and squirts cum onto Lance’s nipple.

They’re both sticky and sweaty and the tension is heavier than Jambee’s atmosphere.

Lance is gazing up at him with a haze in his eyes, but Keith can see the question—the uncertainty—lingering deep in the dark blue. Barely visible in the dark.

And he knows there’s no going back. Not when his mouth curls into a slow grin and Lance’s face transforms underneath him.

And Keith thinks that might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this one was plot heavy and less sex, bUT for those of you here for the sex ;) the next one is where it realllllllyyyy gets hot and heavy. so just hang on folks, we're really gettin down and dirty now. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sticking with me even though i have a bad habit of disappearing for months at a time (and probably will again...) i'm hoping to have this piece fully done before i leave for school in august but like. we'll see
> 
> and for those of you guessing at the song names, i won't confirm/deny until the last chapter is posted but i love all the songs y'all have been putting out there


	3. i just need you to be always a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information from a captive leads to a change in dynamics and plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stg my favorite word is "fuck" i don't even wanna know how many times it's in this chapter alone like,,,
> 
> anyways. 
> 
> enjoy!!
> 
> comments and kudos make my whole day :D Thanks yall so much for all the love and support

He was wrong, of course. That Lance’s face the first time they touched each other was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

No—it’s easily the way Lance’s mouth is dropped open in blissful, _quiet_ sleep. Lids firmly closed, chest rising and falling to a steady rhythm, leaving Keith entirely at peace in their bedroom.

Keith reads his daily report before Lance has the chance to disrupt the room with his noise. Aimlessly scrolling through logs of text, cataloguing and storing and not really paying attention—

_Ping!_

**NEW MESSAGE: COMMANDER.SHIROGANE**

Keith silences his tablet before tapping on the message.

Their old conversations fill up his screen, and it takes him a moment to register what this new message is.

_Huh_.

That’s the only thing he thinks when he looks at it, staring so long at the words his retinas begin to burn and the letters blur in front of him.

He reads and rereads, waiting for the meaning to process.

Waiting for the ball to drop.

Waiting to feel anything other than _disappointment._

Swiping, he mutes the thread, and shuts his tablet off just as Lance’s own fills the room with the blare of his alarm.

They both groan as Lance slaps a hand blearily in the general direction of the device, barely managing to slap it and deactivate the alarm.

Another day.

Another…

Lance blinks at him, those sleepy blue eyes so different from the ones Keith normally sees; pupils blown wide, blocking out the feeling in favor of lust.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“Mornin’,” Keith replies, swinging his legs to the ground and hauling himself out of bed, sheet falling from around his waist.

Blue eyes, rimmed with dark lashes and sleep, trace his frame.

Snap up to meet his.

“What’s on the schedule for today?”

And Keith knows he’s just been promised another evening.

~~~

His hips are slamming home, gyrating against Lance’s and he can feel a breath puffing in a steady beat against his cheek. Their cocks grind together, and Keith has his hands fisted in the pillowcase to avoid grabbing Lance’s hair.

“God, fuck it feels so good—” Lance moans. “Why weren’t we doing this sooner?”

Keith has an answer—maybe, kind of, he’s pretty distracted by the feel of their dicks against each other right now—but he won’t say it. Can’t say it, as he groans at the pleasure steadily pooling in his gut.

“Doesn’t matter,” Keith grunts, “doing it now.”

Lance thrusts up against him, two firm hands holding Keith’s hips just where he wants them, and Keith nearly whimpers. He’s coming undone, so much faster than he wants to, so much quicker than he needs to.

But hell above, below, and sideways if it doesn’t feel like heaven.

His thighs shake as he adjusts, and Lance hooks one leg behind the back of Keith’s thigh, removing any final space between them.

Coconut and musk fill his nose as he buries his face in Lance’s pillow, thrusting without any semblance of tempo or pace now, chasing the orgasm he’s teetering on the edge of.

“Come on, fuck I’m close,” Lance whines, a sharp cheekbone pressed into Keith’s shoulder blade.

They haven’t kissed since that diversion on Jambee, but as Lance mouths at his bare skin—tasting scars and salt and history—Keith can’t help but cry out as he cums, shivering against Lance. His cock twitches as it slides in double the amount of mess he’s used to, and it takes him a moment to register the pain of Lance’s teeth as he bites into Keith’s shoulder when he, too, cums.

The smell of sex fills the air and Keith feels every bit of tension leave his body. Collapsing, he smothers Lance, trapping their dicks and mess between them.

But neither boy has an objection to voice.

What words would be sufficient to claim intimacy in a bed where they want none, to state desire that’s beyond lust?

What words would Keith use to tell Lance he thinks about these moments, every waking hour, every moment he’s alone?

What words would Keith use to tell Lance what this is between them?

“Ugh, I’m wet,” Keith mumbles at last, pulling away. Hard corners of the tissue box poke into his hand as he pulls several free, cleaning them up. Depositing them gracelessly on the floor, he stands, cracking his back as he does so.

“Fuck and go, huh,” Lance snorts. “Cum and leave. Ejaculate and make haste. Bust a nut and bust a move.” Lance wrinkles his nose. “That last one didn’t quite work, but the point remains.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m going six feet away to my own bed. Why on earth wouldn’t I?”

There’s a palpable hesitation, and Keith covers his misstep by stumbling his own feet. “Fuck me,” he swears, barely managing to catch himself in a spin before he faceplants on the ground. Orgasms. Fucking up his balance by letting him be relaxed.

“One day,” Lance chirps, and Keith doesn’t have the energy to explore _that_ avenue tonight.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, finding his way into his own bed and yanking the sheets up around his shoulders.

Lance snorts. “No objection? Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind, mullet.”

And as Keith stares at the shapes and shadows on the ceiling, comparing them to the ones on the inside of his eyelids, he knows at least one of them is following Lance’s parting statement.

~~~

They’re watching her through one way glass. She sits in a metal chair, unbound, dreads spilling from the pile on her head. Her eyes are focused on the right upper corner of the room, and she’s saying nothing as she sits there. She doesn’t move, not even to fidget or adjust.

“How long has she been like this?”

Shiro sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Since you brought her back. No one has ever seen her move, or gotten a reaction out of her. I’d be worried she’s going to die of starvation, but the food trays keep coming back empty.”

Lance frowns, brow furrowing. “So watch the cameras, see when she moves. She has to eat and shit at some point.”

“That’s the thing,” Shiro says, and there’s an edge to his voice. “It’s like—I don’t even know what it’s like. We’ll replay the tapes over and over and it’s like, the food is there one minute, gone the next.” He sighs, heavy and long. “I can’t make any sense of it.”

Wheels spin in Keith’s mind. Jambee, and the man, and the cave, and Black and dust and there and not and there and not and _there and then not one second and the next he’s gone where did he go—_

“Just like on Jambee,” Keith whispers, the last part of the puzzle clicking into place. At least, this puzzle. He snaps his fingers. “Run her ancestry. Take a blood sample or whatever, run it against the records we have for the people of Jambee.”

“Keith, what—”

“Just, just do it.”

“Lance, she looks nothing like the people of Jambee.” That’s Lance, eyes flicking from the girl to Keith, as if he can’t decide who’s more out of their mind.

“The data card, Lance. You said it yourself. It had the Jambee letters and numbers on it. _You said it yourself._ ” He’s pacing now, eyes trained on the girl. “When I was chasing her and you were on the roof and you refused to shoot the skiff until I was in range. _Remember what happened on Jambee? That man disappeared into thin air_.”

Lance shakes his head. “No. She’s a spy, maybe, but this isn’t connected. The planets are light years apart. Why would she be from _Jambee_ to steal a data chip, something _only we knew about_ , and then remain here? If that man really did disappear into thin air, and if by some fucking odds you’re correct she’s Jambeeian, why won’t she? Why does she just use it to disappear off the cameras to eat food and relieve herself?” Lance shakes his head again, eyes flashing. “It doesn’t make any goddamn sense, Keith.”

“But it does!” he nearly shouts. “It makes so much sense! I haven’t put all of it together yet but this—she’s Jambeeian. I know it. There’s a reason she can’t get out otherwise, you’re right—she would! Why else would she steal the data chip? Why else would she target you, us? There’s a connection here, Lance. I know it.”

Neither wants to be the one to break the staring contest, to call space chicken and look away.

Shiro does it for them by stepping in between.

“She’s Jambeeian,” he says quietly, and three eyes lock onto hers.

The girl snaps her gaze from the corner and seems to stare directly through the glass, narrowing in on where Lance stands.

“Blood samples we took when she arrived, combined with traces found on the Galra materials you two brough back confirms it. She’s Jambeeian.”

Their trio stands in silence, watching her prone body.

“I feel like such a perv,” Keith mutters at last. “I don’t even like girls and this is uncomfortable.”

“Way to lighten the mood,” Lance deadpans, but the mood is lighter. It lacks the heaviness of truth, buoyed by the humor of reality.

The silence lingers for a moment longer.

“So…” Keith drawls. “What, exactly, are we doing about her? Great to know she’s Jambeeian, but we’re still lacking a major motive behind taking that data chip—which Lance and I still don’t know what that contains—and why Jambee is a mess to begin with.” He points to her. “We have every right to keep her after her attack on Lance, but the Allura Accords and Intergalactic Treaty only covers us for so long.”

Shiro sighs another one of his Shiro Sighs. “I’m working on it. She won’t speak to anyone, and that data chip didn’t give me the information I thought it would. We’ll be able to keep her for a while still but…” he trails off. They all know Keith is right. Unless they’re able to formally charge her, she has to be released within a month. Doesn’t matter that she almost killed Lance.

“Alright,” Lance says, and any kind of feeling has left his voice. He’s staring somewhere above her head, but his face is millions of miles away. “Keep us posted.” And with that, he stalks out of the room.

Soft footsteps grow heavier as Lance’s stride quickens and Keith has to break out in a mild jog to catch up with him.

“Damn, dude, at least let me reach you—”

Only a few doors have real, actual handles on them, and Lance has just yanked one open. Feet knock together and legs tangle as Lance shuts the door before Keith is fully inside, smacking him on the ass and shoving him forward. He lands with a grunt on Lance’s chest, hands immediately fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt.

“What—”

“Just shut up,” Lance growls, and Keith does. They’re smothered in darkness and it takes Keith’s Galra eyes a moment to adjust. When he does, bottles of cleaning fluid and spare rags fill his vision.

“We’re in a supply closet?” Keith hisses. “What the fuck, Lance?”

“That’s the point,” Lance hisses back. “Fuck.”

It’s a little shameful how long it takes for Keith to clue in. By that time, Lance’s hands are fastened around his waist, his mouth on Keith’s neck, and hard dick grinding up against Keith’s motionless crotch.

“Woah,” Keith says, body tensing, flooding with that cold that makes his heart beat too hard.

Lance takes a step back. “Shit. Right. Do you, uh, do you want to do this? That room kinda fucked me up, and I just need to get my mind off of what’s going on. Night time seemed too far away, and you were here and…”

Galra eyes or not, Keith can physically feel the heat of embarrassment pouring off of Lance.

“I should have asked before I assumed. That wasn’t at all cool.” Lance releases his waist, takes a step back. “Fuck, wow. Good job on me making all of this go so well—”

“Lance,” Keith says, and hopes no one is outside. His voice isn’t exactly a whisper. “It’s okay. It just took me a minute to get there.”

“You’re sure you want to? I’m not pressuring you or guilting you or anything?”

“I’d have punched you and left already.”

Lance laughs that dry, humorless laugh. “Fair.”

And then Keith is guiding Lance’s hands back, and Lance’s mouth shuts up for the better purpose of sucking hickies into Keith’s neck. And this time, Keith is grinding back, dick getting harder by the second until he’s pretty sure if he doesn’t get contact soon he’s going to combust. All the cleaning supplies in the world wouldn’t be able to fix that blue balls mess.

Fingers tug at his zipper and Keith shifts his hips forward. Nails scrape against his skin as Lance undoes his button, drags his zipper down with a slowness that makes Keith growl. Lance slips his hand into Keith’s pants, rubbing him through his underwear. Using his thumb to _press_ against the tip of his dick, the friction of the fabric and Lance’s hand making him throb.

“Lance…” he breathes, and earns a nip in response.

Red and purple will dot his skin for the next several days but right now Keith doesn’t fucking care.

Lance could do anything to him right now and Keith would thank him.

Pressed against this door in this cramped closet reeking of bleach, Keith can’t help but trace one hand up Lance’s side, palm settling on his cheek. Feeling the heat between their skin as Lance leans into his touch.

“Can I try something?” he murmurs, and Keith is so lost to lust he nearly misses it.

Nodding, he’s about to ask what when Lance drops to his knees.

His brain focuses on the sounds because of he focused on the feeling, the way Lance’s mouth feels against his clothed dick—

“Fuck,” he whimpers. _Whimpers._

_The mess Lance is making of him._

“Ever had someone suck your dick before?” Filth drips from Lance’s words and Keith knows he’s absolutely ruining this underwear. “Ever had some other pretty boy drag you into a closet because they just couldn’t stand not sucking your dick any longer?”

“Never.”

Truth slips out before he can make himself a liar, and Lance pulls away, blue eyes flicking up.

“Never?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, McClain.”

Brown strands slip through his fingers as Keith fists his hands in Lance’s hair, but it fails to wipe the genuine shock off of Lance’s face.

“Never, as in never been dragged to a closet before? Or never as in, never had your dick sucked ever?”

He grips tighter and Lance’s eyes flutter shut, but he’s not moving back to where he was in front of Keith’s cock.

Huffing, Keith says, “Never, as in never had a blowjob.”

Impossibly, Lance’s eyes stretch wider. “You’re joking.”

“Lance,” Keith whines instead of answering.

Lance rocks back on his heels, now even further from the goal.

“Your first blowjob is about to be in a janitor’s closet?”

“Well it would be if you would start sucking.”

At that, Lance suddenly seems to remember Keith’s very hard, very desperate cock about a foot from his face.

“Are you sure? Cause like—”

“Lance, if you don’t start blowing me now I’m going to walk out of here and we never do this again.”

Nimble fingers relieve his erection from the confines of his underwear, and Keith’s head falls back against the door once more. His own hands tighten in Lance’s hair, who lets out a soft groan at the feeling.

Keith doesn’t think about the boundaries, the lines they’re crossing. The agreement they made now blown to smithereens.

Nowhere in any kind of masturbation mates manual does it say you should blow each other in hall closets.

But the thing is?

Keith. Doesn’t. Fucking. Care.

Not when Lance _finally_ wraps his mouth around Keith’s dick, warm and wet and Keith has to hold on for dear life so as to not come right then and there.

Every ounce of self-control is shredded when it comes to this boy.

If sucking dick were an occupation, Lance would be CEO. Forget a career as a fighter pilot. Forget saving the universe as a Paladin. Forget whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be doing right now because Lance on his knees, right in front of Keith, this is where they’re meant to be.

One hand pumps what doesn’t fit into his mouth, and Lance bobs his head in a steady rhythm. His tongue pushes into Keith’s slit and Keith moans louder than he did when he was losing his virginity.

“Fuck, Lance,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut and jaw clenching. “God you feel so good. Look so good on your knees for me. Such a pretty boy.”

Vibrations shoot up his dick when Lance moans at the praises, and Keith’s legs tremble. He forces his eyes open to watch Lance swallow him whole, head bobbing up and down in his lap.

Tugging at Lance’s hair until he pulls off just enough to look up at Lance with lust-blown eyes, Keith uses his thumb to swipe at the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck, Lance.”

“That’s the goal,” he says, lips fluttering against the head of Keith’s dick. He dives back in, and Keith makes sure to watch as he gets closer. Makes sure not to miss even a second of this. Allura above only knows when they’ll be here again.

“Lance, fuck I’m close.”

He expect him to pull off, finish him with his hand, but Lance only sinks deeper. And deeper. And deeper. Until the head of Keith’s cock is brushing the back of Lance’s throat and Lance is gagging around his dick and Keith comes with a cry, hands white-knuckled in Lance’s hair.

Lance keeps sucking until the feeling becomes too much, and he pops off with a wet slurp that simultaneously makes Keith grimace and turns him on.

“How was that?” Lance’s voice is gravely. Rough. Heady and hot and if Keith hadn’t just cum… as it is, his dick twitches as he tucks it back into his underwear.

“Amazing,” Keith answers honestly.

Lance grins at him. “Good.”

Keith gestures vaguely down at the direction of Lance’s crotch. “Do you need…?”

Pink coats Lance’s cheeks. “I, uh. I actually came.” He gives a short cough. “When you did.”

It takes an impossible amount of self-control not to let his eyebrows kiss his hairline. “Oh?”

Lance rolls his eyes, but Keith catches the corners of a smile. “It was hot, okay? And it was kinda really doing it for me that I was giving you your first blowjob. Especially in a setting like this.” He looks around. “This is like, the scene from half of all pornos or whatever.”

“What pornos are you watching?”

Lance waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, you’re hot as fuck, and I’m dragging you into more closets to suck you off.”

With that, Lance stands, pats Keith on the cheek twice, spins him away from the door, and makes his exit.

Leaving Keith alone in the closet, dazed and blissed, and more than a tad confused.

But mainly blissed.

_Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…_

He waits til a count of 30 before making his exit and immediately spying a security camera.

“Fuck,” he groans, and sets off to find the security center before Pidge begins her day.

~~~

The lights are dim. Not out, not fully bright, but dimming steadily in an attempt to tell them it’s time to start winding down for bed.

Lance repeatedly throws a blue rubber ball at the wall opposite him, alternating throwing and catching hands.

Keith is about three seconds away from snatching the ball and throwing it at Lance’s face.

He keeps having to read and reread the same sentence, trying to make sense of the interrogation reports Shiro finally sent to him. It’s basically useless, a repeat of what they were told earlier. But Keith attempts to read it anyways, trying to find anything in the document that might be useful to them. Might give him any sort of clue as to what’s happening here.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

“Would you quit it?” Keith finally snaps.

“Quit what?”

“That,” Keith gestures at Lance. “With the ball.”

“Oh? Don’t enjoy blue balls?” Lance grins like a cat with a mouse. “I see how it is.”

Keith growls. “Does everything with you have to be sexualized?”

“No, but it’s way more fun that way.”

As if on cue, the lights switch firmly off. The only glow comes from Keith’s tablet, and his eyes burn as he finds the toggle to turn down the brightness.

The thunking mercifully stops and Keith finishes his document as Lance strips for bed. He’s just switched the tablet off and kicked off his own remaining clothes when Lance speaks.

“So you’re not like… a virgin, right?” There’s a hesitancy to his words that keeps Keith from biting back an answer. A genuine concern. Fondness, maybe.

“Nope,” Keith replies, popping the ‘p’.

“But you’ve never had your dick sucked?” Now Lance sounds truly confused.

“Nope,” Keith repeats.

“Huh,” Lance says.

Keith is happy to be done with the conversation, but the more he thinks about it, the more agitated he gets.

“Why are you so surprised? It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just figured with someone like you, you’d have been pulled into a hall closet a hell of a lot sooner.”

Keith scoffs. “I really have to ask what cheap alien sex shops you’re visiting where people routinely have sex in hall closets full of chemicals.”

“The right kinds.”

He can still hear Lance fidgeting in his bed. “Alright, spit it out.”

“Uh, you know full well I swallow, thanks.”

“Lance,” Keith warns.

“Hey, you gave me the opportunity. How was I not supposed to take that one?”

“Everything is sex with you, all the time.”

“Is that really a problem?” There’s a challenge in Lance’s words now, and Keith stills. “Because sweetheart, you didn’t think it was a problem when I was on my knees for you earlier. In fact,” he can hear Lance shifting but doesn’t dare look over. “I think you loved how much of a slut I am. How much I got off on being your first.”

He hates that his dick is twitching in interest. Really, it’s so inconvenient that all Lance has to do is tease just a little and Keith is ready to leap across the distance between them.

Mercifully, his voice is even when he says, “Maybe so.”

Now Lance scoffs. “Maybe, he says.” Two feet hit the floor—one right after the other, not together—and Keith cocks his head to find Lance halfway between their beds, dick jutting out.

“Maybe so,” Keith repeats, but there’s a heat in his voice he can’t contain. Whatever it is stops Lance in his tracks, blue eyes widening as if realizing the situation and implications he’s just put himself in.

“Lance,” Keith says, no reprimand to be found.

“Keith?”

“Come here.”

Like a puppet cut from his strings, Lance falls forward the last few feet and Keith moves to catch him just in time. Spins their bodies in a move he learned in training until Lance is pinned under him, eyes bright with an entirely different thrill.

“I think it’s time you see why you were my first,” Keith whispers, and drops with a thud to his knees.

Lance’s breath hitches and Keith smirks as he trails light fingers up tanned thighs, taking his time. Roving rough fingertips over raised scars and battle-won wounds. Feeling the lean muscle respond to his touch, breathing in the smell of sex.

“Please,” Lance whimpers, hands snaking down to snag at Keith’s hair.

For the first time ever, Keith lets someone hold his head as he goes down on them. Doesn’t object when he feels the fierce pull after nudging Lance’s dick with his nose.

He surrenders.

Keith eases down Lance’s boxers, shucking them off and not hearing them land. Lance’s breathing has picked up and this is the closest Keith has ever been to his dick.

Sue him if he enjoys the sight a little.

And take everything he has for the way his body clenches at the sound of Lance’s _moan_ when Keith takes him into his mouth for the first time. Salt hits his tongue as Lance leaks precum into his mouth. Keith wraps his lips around the base of the head and sucks, and Lance’s hips buck as his hands hold Keith’s head in place.

“Fuck!” Lance cries. “Oh fuck, Keith.”

Keith hums around Lance’s dick, giving another moment’s worth of attention to the head before sliding further down his shaft. Lance continues to whine and moan, writhing under his touch.

Using one hand to stroke what doesn’t fit in his mouth and the other the cup Lance’s balls, he continues to bob his head, steadily picking up the pace in tandem with the intensity of Lance’s moans. His own dick is positively aching in his boxers, but he’s focused on getting Lance off. He’ll worry about himself later.

“Fuck, Keith, I’m so close,” Lance pants, and Keith pulls off. One hand continues to stroke Lance’s shaft while the other goes up to thumb his slit, smearing precum all around the head.

“Oh god, fuck, I’m cumming,” Lance cries, and Keith rocks back on his heels.

Right in line with Lance’s dick.

Cum squirts all over his face and he sticks his tongue out, lapping at whatever he can reach. He can feel it in his eyebrows and know it’ll be a pain to scrub out later but for now, it’s worth it to see the blissed-out look of awe on Lance’s face.

“Fucking fuck, Keith,” Lance breathes. “That might be the hottest shit you’ve ever done.”

Keith licks at the remaining cum on Lance’s dick, feeling it twitch in his mouth as Lance lets out a sharp hiss. “Sensitive?”

“Yeah, you ass. You just gave me the best blowjob of my life.”

Keith smirks. “And that,” he says, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, “is why I’m rarely on the receiving end.”

He finds a random article of clothing to wipe the rest of the mess—now on his face and hands—and tosses it in the same direction as Lance’s boxers.

His knees crack when he stands, and Lance sits up at that exact moment, putting Keith’s still hard dick and Lance’s mouth level.

Without a word, Lance slips a hand under Keith’s boxers, and in three quick strokes and a few choice swears, Keith is cumming all over the inside of his underwear.

He leans his forehead against the outer edge of his bunk, trying to center himself and stop from falling over in pleasure, but Lance barely gives him a moment. With an ass smack and a cheek peck, Lance is shimmying out from Keith’s bed and moseying back over to his own.

“You do give a damn good blowjob, Kogane. I’ll give you that.”

And within moments, Lance is asleep.

But Keith is left reeling from the pounding in his chest, replaying both the closet and this over and over and over.

~~~

For the record, Lance is the one to break their rules.

Not Keith.

But really, _really_ , is he complaining?

It’s quite hard to object when he’s so turned on by that heated gaze, when he knows they’re the only ones in the locker room right now, when they’ve already broken it once with that closet.

It’s so hard to voice the concerns of someone walking in when Lance doesn’t even bother looking toward the door before stepping out of his still-running shower and slipping into Keith’s. It’s impossible to claim he doesn’t want this when Lance’s eyes dart to his already hard dick.

He can’t say no, not when he has no desire to.

So when he gets pushed up against the shower walls, slicked up and soaped down and Lance’s cock slides between his wet thighs and Lance fucks his legs like this is his one and only chance—

Hell if Keith doesn’t moan right along with him.

~~~

He feels mildly bad for desecrating Red like this.

Mildly.

Not overly.

Not enough to get Lance off his knees and his wet, warm mouth away from Keith’s dick.

Yeah, he’ll apologize later.

For now,

“Fuck, Lance, just like that,” as he thrusts into a willing mouth and hazy blue eyes look up at him.

He cums far too soon, just like he always does with Lance.

He doesn’t overly mind that either.

~~~

The expression, “I know this like the back of my hand,” would be better suited to Keith if it were, “I know this like I know Lance’s thighs.”

~~~

They’re late. They both know they’re late, but Keith took one look at Lance’s bedhead and sleepy eyes and couldn’t help jumping him.

It might be a problem.

He’ll think about it later.

For now, they’re suited up in biohazard gear on top of their Paladin armor.

The Jambeeian girl has finally spoken, and she’s asked for Lance. More specifically, she told the cameras in the dead of night, “Lance. I will only speak to him.”

Keith would wonder how she learned his name if they didn’t have the notoriety they did. Even still, it unnerves him.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” They’re staring at her through the one-way glass and she’s staring back, eyes eerily trained on where Lance stands.

“She’s our best chance at finding out what in all fuck is going on. We’ve got a week and a half left before she’s released and we lose her forever.”

Keith grimaces. There’s still more below the surface he hasn’t quite managed to piece together, and he hates that Lance is right. This girl is currently their only shot at uncovering any more truth to what’s steadily driving his mom insane.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Keith mutters.

Lance doesn’t respond, turning away from the glass and signaling to the guard he’s ready. “I want eyes on her at all times. No one drops their guard for a second. Are we clear?” He waits until he has nods all around the room before jerking his head at the guard. The door opens.

Keith casts one last look at Shiro leaning in the corner before following Lance in, the door sealing behind them with a definitive click.

“You asked for me. Here I am,” Lance says in a cool voice that Keith recognizes as his diplomat mode. Not that she deserves it in the slightest.

She appraises Lance with a blank expression, shoulders shifting to accommodate the magnetic cuffs locking her hands behind her. “You look different.”

“I changed my hair,” Lance shrugs.

_“Keep it together, Keith,_ ” Shiro says in his ear, and Keith fights the urge to reach up and flip the earpiece off. “ _We need information._ ”

Her gaze switches to Keith, knocking one of her dreads free. “I didn’t ask for this one.”  
“Last time you had Lance alone, you assaulted, drugged, and nearly killed him,” Keith deadpans.

She grins. “Is that a mark on my efforts or yours?”

“Listen,” Lance says, unaffected even as Keith bristles. “We need you to tell us why you did that. If you tell us, the Intergalactic Council will consider reducing your charges. As it stands, there’s the potential you could be executed for high treason.”

Her eyes narrow. “High treason? For an empire I don’t belong to?” She scoffs. “Likely.”

Lance and Keith exchange a look. “Jambee is within this galactic empire. We have every right to process you within full extent of the law under the Intergalactic Treaty and Allura Accords.”

She has no snide remark to offer as she chews on the inside of her mouth, more and more hair spilling over her shoulders. It seems impossible that she still has some piled atop her head, and yet, long sandy locks remain twisted about her skull.

“Why did you take the data chip?” Lance is done fucking around, but his tone remains cool, body language relaxed.

She doesn’t answer.

“We have enough to charge you, whether you say anything or not. It only hurts you to remain silent,” Keith says.

She sits quietly, eyes darting around the room.

“Why is that we bring you food and never see you eat it? Remove empty trays and full bedpans and yet no one can account for your movements?” Lance takes a step toward her. “If you can do that, why don’t you just escape? Get out of here? Disappear into thin air, just like we know you can?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she whispers.

“Then how does it?” Lance pushes.

It seems her whisper was a mistake as she presses her lips together, color draining from her face. Lance stalks toward her as Keith remains positioned by the door. “You could have escaped at any moment when we were tracking you in the market. Fled with the data chip and been long gone. But you didn’t.”

“Or you couldn’t,” Keith suddenly says, and the way her head whips up confirms it.

“Of course I would have run when I had the chance,” she spits. “I wouldn’t have been caught by you nimrods if I could have helped it. Fucking smuggler.” This time, she really does spit on the floor.

“We already know what was on it,” Lance lies. “But why’s it matter to you?”

She glares at him. “If you knew what was on it, you would know why it mattered.”

Keith shrugs, taking over when he sees heat bloom in Lance’s cheeks. “What matters to us might be different from why it matters to you.” He leans down, getting in her space. Even though he has two face shields between them, he fights the urge to flinch when she sneers and exposes black gums.

She’s staring at him, and he refuses to back down from the intensity, the pure hatred lining her gaze. “How far would you go?” she asks. “How far would you push yourself to save your home?” She jerks her head at Lance. “Would you kill a man for him? If someone held a gun to his head, would you look them in the eye as you shot them? Would you kill a man, not a stranger, for the one you loved?”

Her voice has dropped to a deadly calm as a slow grin spreads across her face. “How far would you go?” she asks again.

“I wouldn’t drug and leave a man for dead, if that’s what you’re asking.” It barely feels like his mouth moves as he says the words. “I wouldn’t lie and steal and cheat my way into thinking I was on the right side of history.”

That grin reaches its peak, dimpling both her cheeks. “Don’t you know you already have?”

His fist flashes out before he can think about what he’s doing and her head snaps back with a sickening crack.

Manic laughter fills the room and two strong hands haul him out, his feet backpedaling as his mind whirls to catch him up to speed.

She’s still laughing when he’s thrown to the ground in the viewing room, landing hard on his hands and knees.

“What the fuck was that?” Shiro roars, and Keith winces as he hears it double-time.

“You can’t tell me she didn’t deserve it.”

“You’ve just compromised this entire operation!” Shiro’s got both hands gripped in his white hair, scar twisting his face into something ferocious. “You had no right to hit her. Those are _not_ the kind of interrogations we run, Keith.”

“Did you hear what she said?” he cries.

“Yes!” Shiro yells. “Yes, I did, and I’m just as upset about it as you but that doesn’t mean you can go around hitting captives every time they say something you don’t like!”

Keith growls, ripping off his suit piece by piece. “I won’t apologize for what I did.”

“Then get out.”

The command shocks him more than anything else and he’s momentarily stunned, staring at Shiro with an open mouth. The rest of his biohazard suit lands with heavy clacks on the floor, and Keith stalks out of the room.

His feet won’t take him far; he stutters to a halt just a few paces from the holding room. Slumping to the floor, he buries his face in his hands.

Breathes in.

Breathes out.

Growls in frustration.

Breathes in.

Breathes out.

Feels his shoulders finally start to release the tension he’s been carrying since they got told of the interrogation today.

Keith doesn’t know how long he sits there, thousand-mile staring at the opposite wall, tracing the seamless grooves in the metal and floor. Eventually, he hears a door hiss open, and faintly registers the familiar tread of Shiro’s shoes.

“Are you going to behave yourself, or do you want to continue to sit in the hallway like a toddler in time out?”

Wordlessly, Keith stands and follows his commander back into the room. It takes a moment for his eyes to return to the dim of the secondary room. Blinking, he focuses on where Lance is standing in front of the girl, now sporting a broken nose, cracked purple blood crusting her tan skin.

“After your outburst,” Shiro says quietly, as if afraid his voice will carry into her holding cell, “we learned her name is Pyri. Jambeeian, but we already knew that.”

Keith nods along to the information. Inside, it looks like she and Lance are in some kind of standoff. His arms are folded and hip cocked as if to show off the bayard holstered there, and if looks could kill, Lance would be six feet under.

“That’s about as far as we’ve gotten. The data chip is all but useless to us until she tells us what those coordinates mean. The text means nothing either. It’s just a log on daily activity, like a diary of sorts.”

“Is it possible it means nothing at all? And we accidentally got caught up in something bigger than us?”

Shiro grimaces. “I sure as hell hope not.”

Keith is inclined to agree. Because watching Lance, seeing the tense set to his shoulders as he speaks with a woman who nearly killed him—Keith needs it to mean something. If only for justifying the burning hate he feels.

“I can do this all day, princess,” Lance sneers, and Pyri’s perfect mask slips.

Shiro catches it too. “Push her like that again, Lance. That term got a reaction.”

Lance gives no indication he heard them but stalks a step toward her. “Princess, huh? Our sources tell me you used to be someone important on Jambee.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Shame how far you’ve fallen.”

She says nothing, but the set to her shoulders and the way she refuses to look at Lance is saying enough. “Keep going,” Shiro urges.

“No rebellion, no war to fight, so, what? You turned to petty crime? Assaulting those who made your planet safe?”

“If you knew anything, you’d know Jambee has always been safe,” she says, voice tight.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

No answer.

“You’ve got a primitive defensive system, no exports or imports, no major trading hulls or resources.” Lance ticks each point off on his fingers. “Or, so everyone thinks. So why is it that Jambee has secretly had the largest stock of Pl-X8 in this half of the galaxy?”

Keith and Shiro exchange a sharp look.

“That’s the kind of thing the Galra would kill for. Colonize over. So why, why, _why_ has Jambee been safe for this long?”

Her mouth is pressed into a thin line, eyes so wide Keith is worried they’ll pop right out of her skull.

“But really,” Lance leans down and whispers, “your safety depended entirely on the Galra, didn’t it?”

“The coordinates,” she whispers. “Go to the third one on the list.”

A thrill shoots through Keith, even though the logical part of his mind tells him to take this girl’s words with a grain of salt.

“Why?” Lance is fighting to keep his voice even. Anyone who doesn’t know Lance like Keith does wouldn’t hear it, but the faint tremor betrays exactly what Keith feels.

She shakes her head. They’ll get nothing more out of her. There’s a change; a slump to her shoulders, a defeat in her face.

Lance accepts this white flag and is about to signal to the guards to let him out when she speaks for a final time.

“The—phasing. It doesn’t work far away from home. It—it depends on location, closeness to a hearth. Proximity.”

Lance gazes at her, and then jerks his head at the door. He’s in there one moment and next to Keith the next, grinning like an idiot.

“Hose off,” Shiro commands immediately, and Lance takes an automatic step back. “I don’t want any risk of any kind of transference. We’ve already got enough going on with Krolia.”

Lance nods and exits to the hallway where he’ll be stripped and escorted to the washroom by droids. “You too,” Shiro says, and Keith reluctantly follows. He has half a thought to mention hosing down the spot he broke down in the hallway but shuts his mouth when he sees it’s already been power washed.

They’re hosed down separately and Keith is running through the words in his head. Wanting to know if Lance is okay, how he feels after his confrontation with the girl—Pyri—and if it’s brought back anything. If Keith can do anything for him because that damn conversation they had on Red coming back from the market refuses to stop replaying in his mind. Desperately trying to figure out the best way to convey to Lance that he thinks he did a damn amazing job in there and Keith is…. Keith is…

Stuck.

At a loss for words.

Struggling to convey this tightness in his chest that only sharpens every time he looks at Lance.

Failing to get any words out when Lance finds him later, hair wet and dripping on his shoulders, grin stretching ear to ear.

Miserably, utterly failing at telling Lance he’s—

He’s—

He’s dragging Lance back to their room and Keith has no idea what time it is but it doesn’t matter because he can’t take this tightness anymore. He needs it gone, needs something done about it, needs _Lance_ to take it and make it better.

Their door shuts and Keith is the only one breathing heavily in this starkly bright room.

Lance is looking at him with those fucking blue eyes that Keith thinks will kill him one day, and he can’t think of anything beyond—

“Bed, now.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s, uh, kinda hard. You’ve kinda got me pinned against the door.”

And Keith looks down and realizes he does, hands wrapped loosely around Lance’s wrists; their only point of contact.

“And do you, uh, maybe want to tell me what this is about?”

“Hot,” Keith breathes, and Lance looks like he’s thinking of getting Keith medical help and Keith is thinking of asking for a thesaurus for his birthday. “So fucking hot watching you today.”

Lance’s mouth drops down into an ‘o’ of understanding. And then curls into that smirk that used to make Keith want to punch him and now still infuriates him but for different reasons. “You really just couldn’t wait, huh?” Lance leans forward, nosing at Keith’s neck. “You need it so badly.”

“So badly,” Keith whimpers, because this is _easy_. He knows how to do this, use these words, make this happen.

“Tell me what you want,” Lance whispers in his ear. “What made you drag me back to our room so desperately.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

The admission slips out, and both boys still. “Keith…”

“I want you to fuck me,” he says again, more conviction.

Because it’s exactly what he wants. It’s exactly what they’ve been building up to. And then he realizes Lance’s stillness might be for another reason. “But if that’s not something you want to do then we don’t have to at all—”

His words are cut off by a sharp gasp when Lance sucks a sharp hickies into his neck, using the wrists Keith is still holding to drag him forward. Their bodies are lined up, Keith’s head tipped back and bared to the world, mouth dropped open and panting as Lance _sucks_ and _nips_ and _bites_. Keith’s knees melt and he can’t stand to be here with this many barriers between them but it’s so good, too good to stop.

“You have no idea,” Lance moans, “no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say those words.”  
Keith grips Lance’s wrists harder when Lance bites a particularly sensitive mark and Keith’s hips buck into Lance of their own accord.

“So desperate,” Lance coos.

“Don’t try and tell me you’re not,” Keith shoots back, purposefully grinding on the hardness he can feel at Lance’s crotch.

“Who said I was talking about you?”  
Keith lets out a sharp exhale and has to work up to forcing himself away from Lance in order to say, “Bed.”

They’re a mess of limbs and half-undressed bodies as they land on Lance’s bed. Teeth sink into his lip and a sharp tang fills his mouth and Keith doesn’t care—not when this feels so good, _feels so good,_

“Feels so good,” he moans, and Lance mumbles an agreement somewhere from farther down the bed where he’s wrestling with his pants. “Fuck, Lance.”

“That’s the goal,” Lance grunts, finally shucking his pants off and climbing back up Keith in all his naked glory. He strips Keith of his remaining clothing and then they’re both naked and then Keith’s first and only real hesitation sets in.

Because Lance looks like he’s going to kiss him.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Lance murmurs, still staring at Keith’s mouth. “Just say the word, draw the line, and I won’t.”

Keith swallows. “I don’t want to be kissed,” he whispers.

A pained look flashes across Lance’s face and Keith almost reconsiders but it’s gone when Lance says, “That’s it? That’s the only restriction I’m working with?”

Keith nods.

“No, baby, I need to hear you say it,” Lance pleads, and there’s that band again, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter—

“That’s it,” Keith whispers.

Lance gives him a long, appraising look. “Alright,” he says at last. “Good. Because baby, I’m gonna wreck your whole world.”

And if Keith had half a mind about him, he’d be annoyed at the cliché. Rolling his eyes at the look on Lance’s face. Shoving him off and telling him this was all a mistake, that they should have just stuck to getting off with each other in the dark.

But half of nothing is still zero, and _this doesn’t have to mean anything so it won’t,_ and Keith doesn’t object when Lance starts mouthing his way down his body. It takes a moment for Keith to realize he’s just placing his mouth, not actually kissing, and that band feels so tight he thinks it might kill him.

Lance stops at his naval, resting his face there while his right arm dangles over the edge of the bed, searching for something. His face screws up in concentration and Keith watches a red tongue poke out before blue eyes light up in elation.

Lube—a kind Keith has never seen before—swirls in a semi-transparent purple bottle. Lance pops the cap, squirting a generous amount on his fingers, and then closes it before tossing the bottle somewhere on the bed. He pushes at Keith’s right leg, who then lifts, hooking it over Lance’s shoulder.

Heat hits his cheeks and Keith has to stare up at their ceiling, counting the tacky stick-on stars in an effort to keep his breathing even—

“Oh!”

“Been awhile?”

“Yeah,” Keith exhales. It takes him a moment to readjust to the sensation as Lance eases a finger inside of him. It’s slick and warm and Keith forces his body to relax against the feeling, to not push the intrusion away.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” Lance murmurs, and Keith’s lower lip trembles.

Slowly but surely, Lance begins to open him up. Pumping with one finger, then two, and then scissoring and spreading and tracing and Keith has to grip the sheets for dear life.

“You’ve certainly done this before,” Keith chokes out.

“Once or twice.”

“Once or twice he says,” Keith mocks, trying anything that will ground him.

Lance removes his fingers with a squelch, and drops his arm off the side of the bed again. “Your condoms aren’t in the beside table?”

Lance wrinkles his nose. “What, where you would obviously find them and ‘borrow’ them? No way.” He finds what he needs and returns, ripping the foil in one smooth motion.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Lance says.

“Someone thinks highly of himself—”

Keith shuts up when Lance roughly grabs at his cock, gripping at the base and cutting off whatever Keith was about to say.

“What was that?”

“Just fuck me.”

Lance hums, and Keith shuts his eyes when he hears the condom getting rolled on.

And then,

and then,

and then,

“Keith.” It’s so soft he almost misses it. He opens his eyes to find Lance there, right there, so close he could close the distance so easily but he won’t,

“Yeah?”

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” he whispers.

Lance looks down as he guides himself into Keith. Their breaths hitch in tandem, Keith screwing his eyes shut as he feels Lance push into him, the tightness too close to pain and he’s about to ask him to stop when it melts and all he feels is the tension melting.

“Okay?”

“So okay,” Keith says.

Lance goes deeper until he’s fully seated inside Keith, once more pulling his legs up and hooking his knee behind Lance’s back. Muscles ripple under his touch and Keith hates how close they are, hates how much it is, hates how it still isn’t enough.

Lance starts a steady thrust, pulling back and then easing back in, and Keith abandons his grip on the sheets to cling to Lance instead.

“Fuck, oh fuck just like that,” Keith moans, breaths coming faster.

There’s a nose and a sharp cheekbone pressed against his neck and Lance is starting to slam home like this is it for him. His one and only, like he truly has been waiting for it as long as he said.

One particularly powerful thrust has Keith screaming when Lance hits his prostate, legs tightening and cock weeping in a vain effort to get touched. “Right there, Lance, right there!”

Lance hits that spot again and again and again and tears leak freely out of the corners of Keith’s eyes and he _doesn’t care_ because he never wants this to stop, _never wants_ them to part, _never wants them to let go._

“Lance!” he cries, and Lance is mumbling something unintelligible against his neck, hips working faster and Keith is close, so close, just a little,

Lance works a hand between them, tugging on Keith’s dick at an awkward angle but it’s enough, no, no it’s not but he’s so close, feels so good, and he just needs a little more.

“Look at me,” Lance suddenly says, wrenching his face away from the crook of Keith’s neck until they’re nose to nose. Keith has to force his eyes open, the lust and stimulation too much for proper functioning but one look at Lance’s big blue eyes and he’s cumming. Cumming, all over Lance’s hand, so hard black dances across his vision and he doesn’t even have time to cry out before it washes over him. His mouth drops open and that’s all he can do; let the wave ride over hm in silent bliss, body shaking as Lance thrusts into him once, twice more, and then stills. Keith can feel his cock pulse inside and his body shivers with aftershocks, clenching around Lance’s dick. Lance groans in response, resting his forehead against Keith’s, eyes finally closed.

They’re still, chests heaving against each other, until Lance pulls out and they both wince. He ties off the condom and throws it toward the trash—landing it, somehow—and then slumping back down in bed.

“Wow,” is all Lance can say.

“Yeah,” is all Keith can provide.

Keith shifts in bed and Lance’s hand darts out, circling around his wrist. “Don’t go,” he murmurs, and though his eyes are closed, Keith can picture the plea perfectly.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says. “Why on earth would I?”

Lance swallows hard, shifting to give him more room, and slowly, Keith lays back down beside him, curling up into Lance’s side.

And for the first time in as long as he can remember, he doesn’t have to wait for the navy blue to wash over him. Doesn’t have to count and pray for relaxation and hope his brain won’t keep him up.

Keith falls asleep utterly content.

~~~

It’s dark when he wakes. It’s too hot and there’s another body intertwined with his and every nerve in him is screaming _fight_. When his racing heart calms and remembers the smells of this room, the sheets he knows, realizes it’s his room just the side he’s not used to, everything in Keith runs cold.

Lance breathes evenly beside him, utterly lost to sleep. One hand is wrapped around Keith’s back, the other laced with Keith’s and resting on Lance’s chest. Dark hair tickles his nose and Keith can’t remember when he took his hair out; he never sleeps with it loose for this exact reason.

Carefully, so as to not wake Lance, Keith unwinds their fingers. Slips his leg out from where it’s trapped between Lance’s. Eases away from a warm body and lets the goosebumps break out across his skin.

Friends with benefits don’t spend the night. Fuck buddies don’t fall asleep together, don’t move cautiously to keep the other at peace. And they really don’t smooth back the hair from the other’s forehead, tuck the sheet up to their chin to replace the warmth of a body but fail to replicate the tenderness.

_This doesn’t have to mean anything,_ he said that first time.

Keith crawls into his own cold bed, shivering, staring up at their tacky glow in the dark stars.

_So this doesn’t either,_ he thinks.

He’s long gone before Lance wakes.

~~~

Shiro finds him in one of the training rooms, and Keith allows himself a momentary feeling of surprise. This isn’t the one either of them favor; Shiro would have no reason to check here.

“Keith!” Shiro calls, and Keith ends the simulation. The droid drops dead, and Keith strips off his boxing gloves as he walks to where Shiro leans against the doorframe.

“What’s up?” he asks, using his upper arm to wipe sweat off his brow.

“We’ve had people working round the clock on what Pyri gave us. I think it’s time we call a meeting and make a plan of action.”

Keith nods. “You think it’s safe then?”

Shiro grimaces and looks toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. But there’s something more here, and we can’t just leave it be. We’ve had to put Krolia in her own isolation chamber, and…” Shiro hesitates, glancing at Keith.

“What?” he says, unable to keep the snap out of his voice.

“She’s not the only one. Anyone who’s been in direct contact with those materials before we started mandating biohazard suits is starting to show symptoms of a madness. Best comparison I can think of is Quintessence madness, but this isn’t that.”

Keith swears. “What if we just make it worse? What if she’s leading us into a trap, and this pathogen, this madness, is only the beginning?” Keith shuts his eyes. “Lance almost _died,_ Shiro, because of this. This isn’t some simple retrieval, discretionary mission anymore. We’re playing with the fate of everyone abord the Atlas, and that in turn reflects the fates of everyone in the Intergalactic Treaty.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Keith?” The weariness in his voice gives Keith pause. He’s always known Shiro is older, aged when he was in the Realm, but for the first time Keith sees the toll it’s taken. That the white hair is more than just a byproduct. “I know that every day. Every single day I wake up and think about what decision I have to make. What lives I risk in order to save. What kind of a leader it makes me, to place the fate of the world in hands I trust or don’t trust but must.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says softly. “If there’s anything I can do…”

Shiro gives him a small, but true, smile. “Thanks. I think Curtis mainly has it covered. But when this is all over, I’ll pick a day and we’ll go skiff riding. Be the kids we used to be.”

Keith smiles back at him. “I’d like that.”

They turn to leave the training room and head toward the battle planning conference, when Shiro stops short. “Hey, you saw that we were able to get you your own room, right? You don’t have to share with Lance anymore.”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Keith says, with no small amount of guilt. “I’m still thinking it over.”

He can feel the suspicion, the wheels turning in Shiro’s head, but the older man wisely says nothing. “Just let me know. I had to pull some strings for that, and I can’t keep it unoccupied forever.”

Keith nods, swallowing. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

And Keith shoves it to the back of his mind once more.

~~~

The back of his neck itches from where sweat is drying, and he resists the urge to paw at it. Lance sits across from him, Hunk on Lance’s other side, Pidge to Keith’s right, and a whole array of other important people Keith doesn’t know fill the rest of the long table. Shiro stands at the head, along with whomever analyzed the data and created the current projection.

“X89NE, more commonly known as Xeron, is the planet the captive told us to visit. According to our own data bases, the entire surface of the planet is covered in water, and uninhabited. No one has approached Xeron in close to three thousand years. There shouldn’t be anything there. And yet,” he clicks to the next slide, and murmurs break out around the room. “Footage reported by one of our scouts shows a docking hull and port, along with a flourishing trade center. We have no information on the inhabitants of Xeron, nothing to suggest why anyone might have decided to create anything there. The atmosphere is compatible with most hydrogen based life forms, but their weather is volatile year round, and the ocean there possess the same creatures found in deep space.”

He clicks to another slide, this time a battle formation. Keith leans forward. “We’ve spoken with our tactical strategists, and they suggest a reconnaissance mission is best. Given our…” he shoots a glance at Lance, “history, with duos, we will have a larger space presence.” Lance scowls at the insult but keeps his tongue. “Voltron Commander Kogane and Paladin McClain will land on Xeron. Paladin Garret will remain in orbit, and Paladin Holt with operate remotely from a secondary base for technological instructions. A secondary fleet will remain with Paladin Holt in the event an,” he pauses, and looks at Keith this time, “ _incident_ , occurs. At best, Commander Kogane and Paladin McClain will be able to remain undetected and gather intelligence that will inform us as to why Jambee and Pyri are so interested in this planet.”

The data analyst claps his hands and the presentation ends. Keith turns to Lance, only to find him matching his scowl.

There are a few more points to cover but before long, they’re being dismissed to suit up and prepare for launch.

Lance joins him right outside the door and they fall into step. “What was with that guy? I’m like, fully offended but only vaguely aware of why.”

Keith laughs. “He’s an ass. But, you know, they do their jobs, we do ours. And I’m pretty sure our shit works.”

Lance knocks his shoulder into Keith’s. “That it does.” They’re quiet for a moment as they walk toward the Lion hangar, and Keith relishes in the easiness between them. Until Lance says, “So, you were gone when I woke up.”

Keith just about chokes on his own saliva. “Oh, uh, yeah. Woke up in the middle of the night with too much energy. Figured I’d hit the training decks and wear it out. Thought I’d be back before you woke but,” he shrugs. “You and I sat through the same meeting.”

“Ah,” Lance says, and there’s the hint of an understanding Keith doesn’t quite get. “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

_Fuck._ Biting the inside of his cheek as if that will stop the words from tumbling out, Keith says, “Last night. It was good,” before he can stop himself.

“Yeah?” Lance looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Good. I thought so too.”

And their easiness is utterly gone, replaced by a tension Keith can’t and won’t name until they depart at the Lion hangar to get ready in their individual Lions.

Lance is flying Blue—something Keith objected to and got immediately overruled—so she can land on the water planet. Keith will arrive most of the way in Black, before transferring to Blue and landing with Lance.

Logistically, he gets it.

But—

“Be safe,” he says, and Lance’s steps stutter before halting entirely. He looks back at Keith, unreadable all the way to his eyes which turn down at the edges and pull on that band around Keith’s chest.

“You too,” he says, and it’s so soft Keith nearly misses it.

And then they’re both walking away.

Black is warm and welcoming in his mind when he climbs into her maw, and a breath inside him loosens and releases. Dispels all his worries back into the universe and lets them be, fading between dying stars.

**_I’m glad I feel like home to you._ **

The sentiment is almost too much for him, but Keith manages to smile and lean against the dashboard.

_You always have._

**_Do not let Red hear that. She will be snarling for [days]._ **

An itch goes down his spine when the translator works between them, swapping the Altean word for days with his word.

He suits up and slides into the pilot’s chair, feeling Black roar to life beneath his hands. He lets out a shaky breath and runs over all the controls, checking each one to make sure they’re set in all their proper positions. Useless, of course, given that Altean technology is capable of far more than he could ever hope to achieve, but he does it for comfort anyways.

Looking into the hangar, he sees that Blue is awake and ready as well. He feels Black’s tremor of surprise, and mentally conveys the plan to her.

**_Are you sure your boy will be able to handle it?_ **

_I trust Lance. He can do it. He’s the best damn pilot I’ve ever met._

**_You think so highly of him, and yet I still feel resentment. Why?_ **

_Trivial human things._

Black hums in a tone that tells him she believes exactly none of that, but they’re nearly ready to go.

Blue signals her readiness, and Black sends back a command to lead. Keith can feel Lance in his head, the way they meld whenever they fly in separate lions together. He puts his mental blocks up and thumbs the toggle to ready Black for launch.

“Ready,” comes the hangar’s director over the cockpit, “in three… two… one!”

Black launches and Keith’s familiarity keeps him glued in place, locking in and letting her take control as they soar into space.

He’s zoned out for most of the trip to Xeron, and if Shiro had caught him, he’d get the reprimand of a lifetime.

_Good thing I’m commander now,_ Keith thinks smugly. _And like, twenty-one and a full adult. But that’s somehow less relevant._

But before he knows it, they’re at the switch point. Black will remain here, locked into place by fixating on the planet’s orbit, and Keith will jetpack over to Blue before the three of them—Lance, Keith, and Blue—land on Xeron.

His helmet clicks into place and he makes sure to double check the sealants before stepping to his launch pad.

Black sends him one last encouragement, and then drops her maw.

Space—dark and elegant and beautiful and big enough to swallow him whole—looms out in front of him.

Even after all this time, he’s afraid of the unknown.

One foot off and then he’s soaring toward Blue, using his jetpack only as a course corrector. Blue stares at him, eyes glinting from a distant star, and Keith can’t see Lance in there at all.

Only when he’s about to crash directly into the metal hull does Blue open just enough for him to slip inside, shutting immediately. Gravity hits and Keith lands on his hands and knees—a position, quite frankly, he’s found himself in too much lately.

“Ready when you are,” Lance says, and doesn’t actually bother waiting for a response before launching toward Xeron.

Keith rolls around on the floor as Blue increases in g-force, and swears violently at Lance, the data man for the specifics of this plan, and everyone and everything.

He can feel the moment they breach the atmosphere and his body feels sluggish, everything moving in half-speeds, and then rapidly accelerating before splashing into the water.

Keith struggles to his feet, rocking and swaying, and manages to make it to the cockpit.

Water fills the entire windshield, dark and murky. Readings show that they’re forty feet deep and still sinking, but Lance looks utterly unaffected.

“How was that?”

Keith glares at him.

Eventually, Blue starts thrusting back toward the surface, and stops about ten feet from sea level. Keith can’t see anything beyond the dark blue, and anxiety makes a lovely home in his stomach.

“Can’t we go any closer?”

“Working on it. If we come up to fast, we risk decompression sickness. We don’t want an _incident_ ,” Lance mocks, perfectly capturing the analyst’s voice.

Keith nods, and waits as they slowly rise to the surface. Blue finally breaks, emerging among choppy waves and turbulent currents.

“Alright. We’re about ten kilometers from the base of the port. We’ll be able to jetpack our way over there, start reconnaissance, and then get out before anyone notices we were even here.”

“Sure, because the giant splash Blue made didn’t tip off anyone.”

“One, cloaked. Two, asteroids fall into their ocean all the time. Part of the reason their weather is so awful.” Lance stands, cracking his joints. “Let’s do this.”

They head down to the bay, and Keith is about to press the button to release them when Lance puts a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Hey, at some point, I wanna talk to you.” Lance looks anywhere but at Keith as he worries his lower lip. “I just, I think it’s time we talked.”

“Alright,” Keith says, and shoves _that_ to the back of his mind. “After the mission.”

Lance nods. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

And then Keith presses the button, and they’re off.

They stay close to the water, and Keith sees Lance reach down and brush the waves with his finger tips a few times. Keith is tempted to join in, but something about the act seems so personal, so familiar, that he restrains.

The port is desolate when they arrive. Cracked boards, ruined pieces of metal, and no one in sight.

Keith uses a hand scanner to log all of this, sending it back to Pidge, who doesn’t provide any commentary on their findings. They weren’t given a great basis on where they would find this so called “reconnaissance information” so Keith and Lance set off down the cracked boardwalk.

“People live here?”

“I guess,” Lance murmurs, sounding as uncomfortable as Keith. The gloomy skies do nothing to relieve the spook factor, and Keith feels that same itch crawl up his spine. But when he turns and looks over his shoulder, there’s nothing.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance calls. He’s put a few feet between them, and is now staring down at a cracked board, into the choppy waters. “I think I may have found something.”

One step.

That’s all it takes.

Keith plummets through a rotten board, slipping in between the waves and landing flat on his back on a rocky and dry surface. The wind is knocked out of him, spots dancing in his vision.

“ _Keith? Keith!”_ Lance shrieks through his earpiece. “ _Where are you_?”

“I…” Keith says, wheezing. “I don’t know.”

He’s in a cave. Of course he’s in a cave. Why couldn’t this have been something else this time, like a nice sauna, or underground lab?

It’s dark and he can’t see anything. Has to pat down his body to make sure he still has it. “I have no idea where I am,” he tells Lance. Reaching up, he finds the switch to activate the light on his helmet.

And loses his breath all over again.

He’s back on Jambee, in the cave filled with Galra archives. Piles and piles of assorted items, things he recognizes and things he doesn’t. How? How did he get here? Xeron isn’t even in the same solar system as Jambee, there’s no way—

Panic eases into bewilderment eases into confusion when he starts to notice the differences here. Coral, crusted and red, lining some of the swords. Sand dollars, not dust, in the cracks of helms and shields. Skeletons he thinks look fish-enough litter the floor; Jambee was barren.

But the similarities are too strong to ignore. He switches his video on, but the red light doesn’t blink to signal an active transmission. It’ll be stored locally, but he’ll have to upload it to Pidge later.

He walks as far into the cave as he dares, not touching anything. Shallow breaths even though his suit has its own filtration system. Small footsteps, terrified to disturb the mounds of artifacts lest they come crashing down on him.

“Lance?” he calls.

“ _I’m here_.”

“It’s…”

“ _Keith, where are you? I don’t see you on my map at all._ ”

Keith is at a loss for words. He doesn’t hit the back of the cave but he collects enough footage that Pidge should be able to do something with it later. Treading carefully back to the place he fell, he looks straight up.

There’s no hole in the roof.

_Oh no no no._

He swallows down the panic as he evaluates what to do. The way he came in is clearly not the way he’ll leave. There doesn’t appear to be another exit, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make one.

Time passes as he searches for any way out. His stomach growls as the hours crawl by and he can’t find any kind of gap in the rock.

He has one option left.

Concentrating on what he wants, he wills his bayard to shift into a blaster. A heavy weight fills his hand and Keith grins when he spies the familiar shape, the grooves of the barrel. Aiming it at the ceiling, he fires.

Water dumps in, rushing and gushing and filling the cave to his thighs in a matter of seconds. Keith doesn’t have time to consider the implications of losing these objects before he rockets out of there, into the gloom above, landing on the boards of the port.

“ _KEITH!_ ” Lance roars, and sprints toward him. Keith is knocked off his feet by the tackle hug Lance gives him, spinning around and stumbling, trying to compensate for both of their weights.

“Woah—”

“Fuck, Keith, I thought I lost you,” Lance sobs. “Oh my god. You disappeared. Into thin air. And then your transmission cut out, and I couldn’t hear you. And Hunk kept asking what was wrong and I told him your batteries died which I know he knows is bullshit and—” Lance cuts off, squeezing the air out of Keith.

“I’m okay,” Keith says, hugging back. “I’m okay. I ended up in a cave like the ones on Jambee, and it was filled with Galra artifacts. This planet hasn’t had contact with anyone in three thousand years, how would—”

“I don’t fucking care,” Lance breathes. “I really don’t fucking care right now. We can talk about it later, and examine what it means, but right now I’ve got something I have to say.”

Dread fills his being. He didn’t panic (overly) when he was in the cave, or fear the drop from heaven into the hell that is this planet, or anything about this mission. But the intensity in Lance’s eyes has Keith frozen, pinned in place.

“It’s not okay for me,” Lance says, shaking his head. “This thing between us? I’m not okay with it. I don’t want to be your fuck buddy. Your pal in the dark. Your get off and go. I want more, Keith. I want so much more.” His eyes glisten, and Keith realizes Lance is close to tears. “I told you I can’t do casual sex and I knew I couldn’t do it even when I started this but I wanted—I wanted so badly. I wanted you in any way I could have you and if this was the way you wanted me too, then I would learn to be okay with it.”

Lance takes a shaky breath in and Keith doesn’t think he’s breathing at all. “But I’m not. I’m falling in love with you, Keith, and I can’t take this anymore. And it scares the shit out of me every day thinking you’re in danger and I care, I care so much more than I ever wanted to, and I can’t pretend like I don’t. I think I love you, Keith,” Lance says, and takes a step forward, something like hope and desperation and _love_ on his face.

Just as Keith takes a jerky step away. “No. No, Lance. You don’t love me.”

Lance’s face crumples. “I… Keith. Please, You’re saying you don’t feel anything between us? That this is nothing?”

The band tightens and tightens and tightens until it—

_Snaps._

“I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but it’s not love,” Keith seethes. “I don’t love you and you certainly don’t love me. It’s proximity between us—nothing more. So get your heart out of your ass.” And the band is gone, the tightness is gone, and Keith feels nothing when he looks at Lance, staring back at him with horror etched into those beautiful features.

Keith feels

_It doesn’t have to mean anything,_

_It’s casual,_

_We’re just friends,_

_It doesn’t mean anything,_

_Between us, everything,_

_It means everything,_

But Keith sets his jaw and stares, feeling it spark and burn and ache all the way up his throat.

Lance takes a step back like Keith slapped him. “Fuck you,” he says, unsteadily, like he can’t believe the events that are unfolding.

“Spoiler, you already have,” Keith spits. And spins on his heel,

and runs.

No, doesn’t run.

He runs his mind over the words as his legs walk him calmly to the edge of the port where he calls Black down, numb.

_Proximity. That’s all it is between them._

That one word snags in his mind, stuck like a fly in a glue trap, and Keith relies on autopilot to get him into Black.

She’s able to get them into the atmosphere, and Keith jabs at the console to shut off the frantic transmissions asking him what happened, why hadn’t they heard from him, why did Black fly down, _why why why—_

_Proximity._

_That’s all it is._

_Proximity. It’s a proximity thing. Doesn’t work away from the hearth._

“Black,” he whispers. “Pull up a map of all the coordinates from the data card.”

His eyes slide over the star map once, twice, three times before he’s able to get his mind to focus. To stop thinking of Lance and to start thinking of this, what’s in front of him, the puzzle he’s just solved.

They thought it was proximity to someone else. Someone more powerful, an empire worth fearing.

But no—

They’re solar systems apart but the pattern, there it is, how could they have been so blind before?

The market, the ocean, the dozens of others who’s stats and resources run in a column alongside the star map.

Stars above, how did they miss this for so long?

No one ever considered Jambee was the hearth.

Keith engages the controls to begin a wormhole jump, firmly muting all transmissions and turning his tracer off.

“Set course for Jambee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooppsieeeeee that's some angst
> 
> and also, i promise you the next chapter Jambee will be explained fully
> 
> (but do i know when i'll write it,,, no. i wrote this in three days bc i have surgery on my hand soon and wanted it done before then and i could have written all the chapters ahead of surgery if i planned my time bu noOoOoOoooOOo i wanted to nap and be lazy)
> 
> comments and kudos make my whole day yall, and keep guessing at that song title ;)

**Author's Note:**

> heh. 
> 
> lemme know if you figure out the chapter titles ;)) (either drop it in the comments or message me on tumblr/insta... one correct person will get a fic of their choice!)
> 
> come shout @ me at:  
> tumblr: [blondeslytherin](https://blondeslytherin.tumblr.com/)  
> insta: blondeslytherine


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